


Through the Never

by Twisted_Slinky



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Season 6 Spoilers, Supernatural Crossover Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Slinky/pseuds/Twisted_Slinky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 6 for SPN. Post series for BtVS and Angel. Sam is having an out of body experience, and it seems the only person who can help him is a girl who's rather experienced in being a glowing ball of light. Sam/Dawn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Add Batteries

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence, language, innuendos, and some non-explicit sexual encounters. Spoilers for BTVS and Angel all seasons; spoilers for SPN through season 6.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural or Angel. Written for fun, not profit.
> 
> Author's Notes:Written for the Supernatural Crossover Big Bang. The title is based on the Metallica song of the same name (not anything to do with the Dresden Files). Art by the very lovely [Sarah_Jones](http://sarah-jones.livejournal.com/105137.html) over at Live Journal.
> 
> Setting is post-series for Angel and BtVS. For SPN, the very beginning takes place immediately after Season 5's finale, "Swan Song." And then I'll move into the events of season 6, post "Clap Your Hands if You Believe." So spoilers, guys, even though I curving off onto an AU path. I'd like to also point out that time moves differently in different dimensions, so the year that passes in SPN-land might not be a year in BtVS-land. I'm just going to create my own head-canon when it comes to the Purgatory/gathering heaven's weapons/gathering souls schedule.

 

The fall, eternal. His own choice. _His_. Sam grasped at the notion, clawed into it, held on for dear life. Only…

Life; there wasn't any. One didn't go to Hell alive. One had to die. Sam was dead. Sam was sure he was dead already.

Was it the fall, then, that killed him? Or did he die the moment he looked down at his brother's beaten face and made that silent promise, the one spoken through his eyes? Or did his life escape out his lips with the word " _yes_ "?

Sam wasn't sure. Wasn't sure if his brother would live from the damage his fists, Lucifer's hands, had inflicted. Wasn't sure if Dean would _want_ to live when he glimpsed the pieces of his family scattered about, felt the solid earth that had just eaten his only two blood kin. Wasn't sure if there was such a thing as solid in infinite black. Wasn't sure if the closest body was Adam's or just so many cells held together by Michael. Wasn't sure if he could care.

The one thing of which Sam was absolutely certain was that the screams were not just his own. Lucifer remained, within. The angel spoke of an end. Not to the agony. Not to the fear. Those things would reach no finish. No, what would end would be the fall. The fall would end, and when it did, all that would remain would be the cage and its occupants.

The fall. His choice. _His_.

The right choice.

Lucifer promised to make him regret it, with every rip, every tear, every burn, every bite. In the cage, eternal.

* * *

The room took form around them, molding itself into a library of sorts: regal, elegant, dated. Unique only in that the wall held a magnificent line of shelves full of rolled sheets of parchment in cylinders of gold and silver and bone; his favorite contracts, peeled off their parties, as it were. The scent of ancient books and scotch didn't do much against the all consuming sulfur leaking in from the outside void, but it was a nice touch, if he did say so himself. Crowley didn't bother asking the woman if she wanted a drink when he sat down with his own glass, looking every bit the King of Hell in his crisp black suit. He crossed his legs at the knee and leaned into the cushion of his red, wingback chair, a snide grin on his face.

"Lilah, darling. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Of course, his tone implied a complete lack of any such pleasure. Though they vied for citizenship on a near daily basis, even crossroads demons didn't prefer the company of _human_ lawyers. Alas, a necessary evil, if ever there was one.

"Nice office. Not much of a view," she said, a teasing frown on her face when the final wall fell into place, blocking out the damned souls beyond.

So, she'd given up on the courteous professionalism and general boot-licking already. _Good_. As much as Crowley enjoyed seeing people on their knees, false pretense was _his_ area, and he didn't enjoy being _had_ in his own domain.

He narrowed his gaze on Lilah Morgan. He'd met her before, when she tried to contact him pre-Apocalypse about an offer from the Senior Partners, but frankly, with Satan's thick-skulled minions under every brimstone, he'd been a little too distracted to stick around. Now, though, meeting _the help_ was part of his job.

She had an attractive form, but her hungry expression was too much shark and not enough enticement for her to ever be much good at buying souls without the legal jargon. His eyes followed her high heels up to bare legs, swam over her sharp blue skirt and low-cut blouse, and hovered at the short scarf knotted at her neck. Nothing like a decapitation to put a smile on his face.

"You know, I might have second thoughts about working with a firm that doesn't provide decent health insurance for its employees," he noted, an amused twitch at his lips when the comment struck home, and she reached up, carefully adjusting the silk scarf to cover the scar. "But, their contracts… Those, I can respect. Got you for the long-haul, did they, darling? Yes. I thought so."

Her jaw tightened, the smile forced. "Mr. Crowley, we at Wolfram & Hart would like to extend our congratulations on your recent promotion. I trust you received our fruit basket?" When his reply was a smiling stare, she took the opening. "The firm has recently been informed that you would like to further expand your empire."

"Have they now?" The question was edged with anger, but Crowley stayed in place, his face dark. "And where might they have heard that?"

"Unimportant, Mr. Crowley," Lilah dismissed, not batting a lash. "What is important is that the firm is willing to aid you in obtaining this property. Now, before we discuss price, I should let you know that we're not liable for any unpleasant contingencies that such a transaction might require—"

"Cut the bull, love. I'm still the King of the Crossroad. Put your deal on the table."

"You want access to Purgatory. We need something that can't be found in the worlds in which we do business." She straightened her shoulders and gripped the arms of her chair lightly. "We're proposing an exchange. Due to recent changes in the…management of one of our branches in the lower dimensions, we're currently looking to acquire an angel." Her gaze glistened, as if some part of the request had struck her as funny, but her tight, professional tone remained intact. "If you were to aid us in obtaining one, we would be very grateful. Grateful enough to provide you with a key to Purgatory. No soul exchanges necessary."

Crowley ran a finger over his lip in thought, expression carefully schooled.

"It's my understanding that angels don't keep well during dimensional travel. Don't think FedEx would insure that package. Fact is, from what I've heard, you might end up with a soufflé with feathers if you try to drag them into…What did you call it? 'A lower dimension.' You're talking about The Never, I assume?"

She blinked, as if caught off guard. "Yes, some call it The Never. As for the survival of the package, that's my employer's problem, not yours."

"And why exactly would you require my help in getting one of my fine feathered foes?"

Lilah cocked her head, something akin to admiration in the twinkle at her eyes. "You're a demon of many talents, Mr. Crowley. Your dimension, which our firm is currently restricted from traveling to, shares this human Hell with The Never. If you get an angel here, we'll be capable of taking care of the rest."

The demon tapped his glass against the chair and weighed his options. He had, since his mortal years, been a man with a plan. Always some new endeavor up his sleeve. Back then, he'd wanted power, found it in a demon lover, and knew the price he had to pay in order to receive it: Hell, a long trip. And now, his latest of plans was just at infancy, and its price would be great, as well. This option, though, this option came a bit cheaper. Still, lawyers? From working the crossroads, he knew their game. They only took what was theirs if they actually _won_.

Crowley parted his lips for the sip of Craig. "If you haven't noticed, angels don't exactly drop in for tea time."

"You have two already here—"

Crowley snorted, interrupting her. "Feel free to take either off my hands, but good luck picking that lock."

Lilah bristled at the interruption, but went on, just as smoothly. "Michael and Lucifer are not our concern at the moment. As I was saying, you have two angels already here, one of whom is Heaven's golden boy. His followers will be lost without him." She paused. "If you leave your defenses down, another angel will drop in, eventually, to see to his brothers."

Crowley hid his smirk. Brothers. Sure, if Raphael found a way to get his pony show back on the road, he might pay a visit. But, Crowley had a feeling it would be another angel who'd drop in first, and _he_ certainly wouldn't be there for _his_ brother's sake.

"And what exactly would you like me to do?"

"Simple." She shined, in her element, and lowered her gaze on him. "You give us a shout when he arrives. We'll do the rest."

Crowley was waiting for the other shoe to drop. When it didn't, he raised a brow. "And Purgatory?"

"I'll draw up the paperwork myself."

* * *

Never alone, and totally alone. This was Hell. Basement level.

Skin felt tight, despite its nonexistence, as it was laid back atop muscle, stitched into place with a thick needle and a happy hum on someone's lips. Sam wasn't sure who was playing the game this time, because they'd plucked out his eyeballs and doused him in darkness, and they both enjoy peeling him like a tangerine.

Sam thought, maybe, he had a brother down here once. _Adam_. Only, Adam was cast aside too quickly, sit in a corner and forgotten. Sam considered that and shivered. Such a worse fate, in the end, and one he would never receive because _someone_ had to be the entertainment. Of course, all those thoughts of a brother… He could almost feel Dean's flesh on his knuckles, blood drying under fingernails.

Lucifer leaned in, whispered softly.

"Big brother's dead, Sammy. Has a condo next door. If you're real quiet, you can hear him screaming. Doesn't bother calling your name anymore, though. Guess he hasn't forgiven you for screwing up so royally… Oh, Sammy, _shhh_ , don't cry— _you'll always have me_."

Always: the word was a scalpel. He felt skinless again. Stripped bare. No body to contain him… Something nudged at the back of Sam's mind, and he pulled himself back together again long enough for the thought to take hold. The feeling, of escape, of being without boundary, wasn't emotional. This…this was different. And he could see again. Almost as if he had eyes, but not quite.

But why?

And what was that deafeningly high pitch?

It hit Sam like a punch to the gut. The noise was an angel's voice. Lucifer, screaming in the tongue of his brothers. _At_ his brothers. Because something was reaching through the cage.

_"Castiel?"_

Sam tried to call out to the flood of light breaking through the bars, but he couldn't seem to find his mouth. It was there, somewhere. He'd had a body, once, hadn't he? _"You misplaced your friggin' body? How'd you manage that one, geek boy? How am I supposed to raise you from the grave without a meat suit? 'Cause you're not getting mine."_ It was Dean's voice, not real, but a constant companion for Sam. It gave him the will to move into the light, find that sliver of an opening in the cage, work his way out.

_"Cas, I'm here! Cas!"_

Huge, formless, powerful: it looked nothing like Jimmy Novak, but Sam knew who it was. He could feel Castiel's presence. Then he saw it, something being pulled upward. A body. Sam's body. A decaying, hollow thing. It was surreal, watching himself being whisked away. Like people described out-of-body experiences. Only, wasn't the soul supposed to be doing the leaving?

Sam couldn't comprehend how this was even possible. He held onto the angel's light with renewed desperation, feeling himself pulled free from the cage and into a fresh new void. Lucifer, Michael, they couldn't follow—this cage was meant for angels, not human souls, and the seals remained in place, the bars just wide enough for…

_"Cas! Damn it, I'm still here!"_

If only he could catch up with the angel. If he could just get his attention. If he could just… Then he felt it, his essence being pulled away from the light. _No, No, NO!_ Panic overtook him at the thought of being dragged back into the cage with Lucifer, but whatever vacuum was pulling at him was coming from a different direction all together and yanking him along at a dizzying speed.

_Twisting._

_Turning._

Sam wasn't sure how it happened, but, with sight without eyes, he looked out at a world very much like the one he'd been born into. It felt exactly like home, if home wasn't an Impala's seat and a brother with a broken grin. Something, some fragment of a memory rolled to surface and gave this plane of existence a name: _The Never_. That same grain of knowledge also gave him the oddest sense that he was forbidden to be here—or maybe not him exactly. Maybe someone else was forbidden to see _The Never_.

Sam tugged at the thought but the knot refused to budge. Something had grabbed him, pulled him from Hell, and dumped him into a new dimension. And, that something hadn't even bothered to give him a body to wear.

Sam was lost. A lost soul.

Just when he'd thought he couldn't get more alone than he was in Hell, the Universe had proved him wrong.

* * *

"Ugg!"

Dawn let her head drop to the desk, on top of the stack of printer-white sheets of paper. The cell phone beside her dinged, alerting her to another missed call, and, without looking up from her prone position, she reached out, flipping it over.

"Double ugg," she muttered, in response, when her back-up cell, securely inside her desk drawer, buzzed.

The back-up was for emergencies, but she knew without a doubt that the call was not an emergency. At least not an Apocalypse-loving-vengeance-demon-took-my-sexual-organs-and-ate-my-baby type of emergency. In other words, not their kind of emergency. No, the call was only urgent to the callers themselves, a group of teenage girls reporting the bad behavior of another group of teenage girls because their Watcher had disappeared on a retreat, and they all assumed that Dawn's age combined with her Watcher-In-Training status meant that she'd automatically be on their side.

"Oh, God, was I really ever this annoying?" Dawn asked the universe. Memories of screeching at her family and tossing herself onto her bed after a dramatic slam of the door left her believing that maybe having a group of dramatic slayers pestering her on a near daily basis was some kind of cosmic karma. She hated that karma bitch.

"Yes. Yes, you were." The universe had answered using Buffy's voice. "But thankfully, all of your diaries were destroyed, so there's no proof of your emo years left for the new generation to use against you."

Dawn turned her head to one side, not lifting it from her research paper, the thirty page mass that was supposed to be twenty pages and needed edited by, oh, yesterday. Yeah, _that_ paper. _Sheesh_ —doing the normal thing was just as complicated as doing the freak thing. Dawn had thought, for some odd reason, that moving back to California for college, getting her own place, devoting herself to her studies for a few solid years, would mean more time for, say, developing a non-demon-related social life. Not so much.

She frowned out at her apartment, seeing her sister's silhouette through the archway leading into the kitchen, where Buffy stood, abusing a jar of Nutella. Comfort food. Which meant Buffy was still in a mood. Which meant Buffy would be staying even _longer_.

Not that Dawn minded. She'd put the lease on a place big enough for her and company (thank you, Council funds), even though she had planned on living without a roommate, at Big Sis' insistence. (Apparently roommates were usually evil.) But, this was not the first time that Dawn had found herself hosting her sister for a long period of time, and Dawn really couldn't blame Buffy for needing a "hide-out" to escape to when the whole "fearsome leader of the Slayers" gig got to be too much. Buffy called these little visit "staycations," but minus the occasional pedi/mani combo, Buffy spent most of her time brooding over whatever evil deed the last Big Bad had committed.

"When did I grow out of it?" Dawn called after her.

She could see the shrug of the blonde's shoulders.

"You grew out of it?" Buffy chuckled around a mouthful of creamy chocolate-y goodness. "Let's put it this way, Dawnie, all you need to do is sink all of their home-towns and tell them about their imminent demise. Easy-peasy. Of course, by then, we'll have a new batch to train."

"Why aren't they calling your phone?" Dawn hated that she sounded whiny. She paused, brow cocked. "Wait—where is your phone?"

Buffy paused. "I slayed it."

Well, that explained the ringing, at least. With Xander on a mission to aid werewolves in Canada, Willow training her witches to help maintain the balance of the world, and Giles attempting to run the New Council headquarters in Scotland, Dawn could see how she might be mistaken for complaint hotline _numero uno_. Still, couldn't Andrew or—Dawn's thought was interrupted by the ominous sound of Darth Vader's "Imperial March" from her phone.

" _Buffy?"_ This time Dawn put extra emphasis on the whine aspect.

Spoon still in hand, Buffy rolled her eyes and marched into the room to tune with the music, looking every bit a Sith Lord in her over-sized "I heart ducks" sleep pants. Taking pity on her sister, she snatched up the phone, and turned her back, headed into the kitchen with a "hello" to the Watcher on the other line in the form of, "Andy, what have I told you about bootycalling my lil— _oh_ , really? With extra cheese?"

Dawn sighed, relieved to have a moment to herself.

"Research makes nice pillows," she muttered, her eyes drifting shut. Dawn was certain she could work a ten minute desk-side nap into her evening schedule, but before she'd managed to make the mental time allowance, a current swept over her. Or, at least, that's what it felt like—live electricity crawled over her skin for a split second before it disappeared, leaving her gasping in surprise.

She pushed herself up from the desk, searching for danger, and she didn't have to look far. A blindingly bright light filled the room, then dulled, slowly, its core directly across from her, at the short book case beneath the two wide windows of her main room. The light was still there, white hot, the edges of it tinged in yellow, but it had receded into a steady, gentle glow. And it seemed to be coming from the Orb of Thesulah sitting on a wooden ring on the top shelf.

"Holy Hannah."

Dawn sucked in a calming breath, taking an unsteady step back and pushing her chair out of the way. When her pounding pulse decided to quit deafening her, she could hear another sound, a steady hum—this was not so foreign. It was the warding spell, meant to notify her of an intruder.

Buffy stomped back into the room, one hand pushed against her right ear, the other holding the cell phone against her shoulder. "I swear, this ward goes off every time Mr. Partain from 208 slams his front door—we've got to get a witch over to fix the alarm before I go deaf."

Dawn swallowed. "Uh, Buffy?"

"Just give me a sec, Dawnie—I wrote the deactivation word down somewhere." Buffy read a muttered phrase off a post-it, and the humming stopped. A bright smile broke her face. "Well, at least _that_ part works."

"Uh, Buffy?"

Buffy glanced her way, her grin fading a little when she saw the shell-shocked expression on her sister's face. "What?"

"Was I muttering a Restoration Spell in my sleep?"

But Buffy didn't hear the question, because her gaze had drifted to the shelves, where the night-light level glow of the orb was casting shadows over the line of photo-frames and knick-knacks surrounding it. "Hey, who put batteries in that thing?"

Dawn was fairly certain she had the most aggravating older sibling in all of history. She rolled her eyes. "Buffy, that's the, well, _an_ Orb of Thesulah."

"No, that's the cheap knock-off Andrew bought on Ebay. It even says 'Made in Taiwan' on the bottom."

Dawn shook her head. "No, that's the one in your room being used as a paper weight. This is the real deal. Remember? We picked it up in Vegas after that whole 'we have allies who can't hold on to their souls' conversation? Yeah. It's real." She took another breath, and ventured around her desk, slowly. "And if I'm not mistaken, there's someone inside it."

* * *

"No angel, no key."

An exhaled breath pushed its way out of Crowley's nostrils. He could feel his meat-suit's heart rate raising, pushing heat into his face.

"I did my bloody part!" he growled. Somehow, though he managed to keep his voice low, and keep his fingers from ripping out the woman's sewn-together throat. "It was your idiots who didn't catch the feathered bugger, and now, _I'll_ have to go make nice with him. Play the fool. Pretend _I haven't a clue_ as to what's going on in my own damned kingdom. You're just _lucky_ he was too oblivious to notice the gaping vortex you opened behind him."

"There was a complication." Lilah didn't dare shrug, her body tense, despite the lax cockiness which was an almost constant feature on her face. "The wrong entity was taken by our summoners."

"You don't say?" Crowley glowered. "Didn't even manage to nab a full vessel." Or the soul. They'd pulled a bloody soul through instead of a whole being and hadn't even had the good graces to hold on to it. "Darling, you're lucky I'm not your boss or your head would be up someone's ass right about now."

"Eloquent."

"Literal," Crowley returned, but he hesitated before making a move on the lawyer. As much as he wanted her to believe that she'd shat in the wrong litter box, he wasn't exactly devastated over the turn of events. A key would have been useful, sure, but he always had his original plan to fall back on. And he'd need that damned angel if it was to work at all. "I'm going to give you a twenty second head start," he said, a little calmer. He could be merciful. Just watch.

Lilah shuttered against her seat, but didn't make a move to leave. "Mr. Crowley, I assure you, this isn't as bad as it seems."

Noted. Crowley gifted her a small, dangerous smile. "Oh, not for me, it isn't," he admitted. At least he was getting the annoying half of one Winchester out of his way. "But, for you on the other hand…"

The woman's mouth tightened, but instead of cowering, she leaned forward, mocking his grin with her own. "Just between you and me, I have a _very_ strong feeling that you're going to get exactly what you need, in the end."

"Do you now?"

"Just keep playing the game, Mr. Crowley, and let us do the work on our end. I assure you, this will all work out in your favor."

Crowley relaxed back down into his chair, intrigued. "And if it doesn't?"

Lilah stood, brushing the folds out of her skirt, leaving his gaze at thigh level. She rolled her neck and leaned down, over his lap. "If it doesn't, you can take it out on me," she said, her voice low, eyes dark, "in whatever way you'd like."

Now, that was a deal Crowley could work with.


	2. Here Comes the Welcome Wiggins

A flutter and a crisp charge to the air; he arrived on the human plane again. Castiel walked amongst people unseen, ever present, and he thought he should feel worthy of his existence. He'd been brought back, after all—destroyed and pieced carefully back together by his Father's hand. And for what reason, if not this…

Sam Winchester, Cas reflected, has always been a large man. Distinctly male with his wide shoulders and narrow hips, gracious mouth and heavy brow. Yet, the angel had always seen some softness in him. A boy's stare, the compassion of a youth glimmering in his eyes, despite his hardships. And, also, the anger of the young, burning fast and hot and out of control. This, Castiel thought, Sam Winchester would never outgrown, no matter his age, no matter how Hell's fire scarred him.

But, as Castiel silently watched the hunter's looming form hold to the shadows, he saw none of the spiritual features of Sam Winchester in those dark hazel eyes. This…this man was no more than a body.

Castiel thought he would feel joy, accomplishment, after saving his friend. For, wasn't this what his Father wanted? Why else would He scrape the pieces back together, reassemble them, if not to do good work, put things as they were. Save Heaven. Save the Winchesters.

Castiel had also thought he would go to Dean, show the man who treated him better than his brothers, show him this thing he had done. This miracle—

But, Castiel could feel it, that nudging sense that something was wrong. He'd failed, somehow, and he wasn't sure he could fix whatever it was he had done… No, he wouldn't run to his friends, not now. Not now that Dean was safe, and Sam roamed the Earth again. No, there were other duties for him. Heaven required his aid. _This world_ required his aid. He couldn't put those problems aside because of a mere…feeling.

A flutter of wings, a crisp charge to the air; he was gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Dawn knew better. She really did. Life experience had taught her not to touch glowing mystical objects. And, yet—

"Dawn, don't!"

She reached out for the orb, despite Buffy's shout, just letting her fingertips roam over the smooth surface. Warm, very warm, but not enough to burn her. Just enough to feel…alive. It rushed over her: fear, curiosity, excitement. She shared the emotions but knew these weren't entirely hers—they were intense, the fear more spiked, the excitement more needy. Dawn let a breath out, the blood rushing to heat her cheeks when she made another observation. It felt _masculine_.

There was nothing exact about it, no logic to the claim, just the same tingle she got down her spine when a cute guy was standing beside her in a store, at school, on the bus—it just felt different from a woman's presence, for a reason Dawn really couldn't put her finger on. Willow would have been able to explain it, had tried to once when she was teaching Dawn how to read auras—a pretty easy trick one almost never had time for in life and death situations. Dawn had spent her first week at Stanford trying to get readings on her professors, pick the arrogant d-bags from the socially-distracted academics based on the colors bouncing off of them, and she was pretty sure she'd only accomplished looking extremely studious and a little constipated. Professor Pool still thought she had a wicked crush on him because of all the intense stare-downs…

Still, she'd enjoyed the aura lesson. Mainly because Buffy had sucked at it. Always a plus to best her big sister at something.

_Amusement_. It rolled off the orb in a wave, and Dawn had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing at the funny tickle it gave her palm.

As soon as that last part sunk in, she lifted her hand from the orb and took a cautious step back.

"Yeah, there's definitely someone inside," she muttered.

Buffy was at her elbow, probably the whole time, though Dawn hadn't really been paying her or her little-sisters-never-listen-if-this-causes-an-Apocalypse-you're-dead tirade much attention. But, as soon as Dawn spoke, Buffy went still, eyes wide.

"Okay, I'll bite—what is it?"

Dawn snorted. "Buffy, it's an Orb of Thesulah. What do you _think_ is in it?"

"Well, smartass, just because it's in an egg carton doesn't mean it's an egg." Buffy paused, as if rethinking that analogy, then went back to subject. "This can't be good. Souls just don't get sucked into these things—I mean, if they did, they wouldn't make very good paperweights."

Dawn had to commend Buffy for reaching out to touch the orb—apparently their whole "if Giles is going to yell at one of us, he can yell at both of us" agreement from last Christmas' eggnog debacle was still in effect. Buffy tapped it first, as if gauging whether or not it might go off like a grenade, then picked it.

"Kinda warmer than a piece of glass should be," she admitted. "Also, oh-so shiny."

_Kinda?_ Dawn raised a brow. There had been no "kinda" about it when she'd touched it. "Do you feel anything?" Dawn asked, leaning forward. "I mean—does it feel, you know, mystically delicious? Like your scythe did to the Slayers?"

"Maybe a little buzzy." Buffy shrugged. "But I've got nothing. Definitely not Slayer related. Guess I need to make a few phone calls to see if the prize inside belongs to—"

"It's not Spike or Angel's souls." Dawn blushed when her sister raised her brow in question. Not that Buffy could really refute the words. No matter how many phone calls she made, it was doubtful she'd be able to track down the vampires. Things were a bit shaky between team dead and team living over the past year, after what happened in L.A. Dawn shrugged, not wanting to bring that part up. "I kind of… It didn't feel familiar. I would know Angel or Spike's, I think. _You_ would have known, Buffy."

That argument seemed to make sense to the Slayer, because her shoulders dropped a little. Her lips struggled with a frown, but she tried to dismiss whatever the comment had brought to mind the same way her sister had—with a shrug. "Alright then. So, we have soul-in-a-bottle. Sounds like we might need to call in some back up. Hope Willow doesn't mind cutting the retreat short."

* * *

Dawn was starting to re-think the word "urgent." For the teenage jr. slayers calling her—and, yes, Dawn realized she herself was only eighteen and should probably wait a couple years before verbally berating "teens"—an emergency could be anything from a mishaps with a hair straightener to a decapitated mailman-turned-slug monster being stored in the deep freezer. Lightly salted. So, in her world, at least, "urgent" didn't always mean urgent. While normal people might freak out if a human soul was sitting in their living room, the Summers girls simply worked around it.

"I just don't think we should be storing it in a shoebox," Dawn noted. Her printer made a frustrated noise as it spit out another page of her research paper, shaking the top of the desk as it worked on the next nineteen. "It seems kind of cruel. Also, it's a shoe box. How can it possibly help?"

Buffy shrugged. "Willow's bringing some kind of curse-neutralizing safe to put it in. But for now, shoe box. 'Cause I swear that thing can see us, and it's giving me the wiggins." And she promptly went back to flipping through her weaponry catalog.

Dawn frowned. She knew should be feeling the wiggins, too. Especially since she was almost certain that Buffy was right and that he—it was _so_ a guy soul—could see them. Instead, though, Dawn just felt kind of bad for him. The smell of patent leather aside, cardboard boxes were not great places to spend your day.

Which it had been—one day. Willow had promised she'd be in soon. Buffy had spent an hour on the phone with the witch after the ward-blaring incident, in which Willow assured her friend that if an entity was stuck in the orb, it was probably going to stay in the orb, so long as they didn't accidentally break it. This had, in turn, lead to the orb being nested around a stack of tissue paper inside a boot box.

_Yup. Because that's what any demon hunting professional would do._

Dawn rolled her eyes, ready to argue her point again when Willow arrived. Abruptly, as was her way. Buffy answered the knock at the door with a squeal of delight and threw herself into her best friend's arms. Dawn fell into the hug as well, then pushed away, giving the witch a once-over. It had literally been months since Dawn had seen Willow in person (Skyping didn't count), and Willow's red hair had grown out a bit, dangling at her chest in waves, but her peasant skirts and crooked smile remained in place, which Dawn took to mean that her "magic camp" had went well.

"Dawnie!" Willow beamed, moving further into the apartment. "You finally bought a matching couch set—I think you might be the first of us to actually buy furniture. How adult of you! But what does that say about us, Buffy?"

"Yeah, I bought the couch and table, like, ages ago." Dawn smirked, but her good mood faded just a tad. How sad was it that she didn't get around to seeing her old friends, her family, unless an unknown entity showed up to interrupt her study time? But this was what she'd asked for, a few years of pseudo-normal college life away from the big-scaries, right? Right. Like normal was an option when her sister was head Slayer of slay club.

Dawn let her gaze wander to the coffee table, one of her I'm-an-adult-now purchases, where the fore-mentioned boot box sat.

"Oh, new shoes?" Willow asked.

"New soul," Buffy corrected, and led the three to the sofa. "Which is sort of why we called."

Willow nodded and lifted her heavy sling purse off of her shoulder. "Well, thankfully, I've brought a more fitting storage device."

She dug around inside the bag, pulling free a wooden box, just big enough to house the orb. Ruins were carved into every side, the gouged marks dyed purple to look like ornamentation.

_Great, a damn curse box, probably filled with salt. My life sucks_ , Dawn thought, then stood a bit straighter. She'd never called it that before, a "curse box," though she figured the name fit well. But _where the hell had the salt reference come fr_ —unease tightened her chest, and she shot the shoe box a quick, anxious glance.

"Nope, didn't happen." Just a fluke. Because there was no way mystery male soul had just communicated with her from afar.

"What?"

Buffy was making with the staring. Oh, and, look, so was Willow. Dawn gave a nervous chuckle. "Uh, just remembered something I didn't do for class."

The two women took it in stride, Willow turning back to Buffy. "I talked to Giles. He's—what's the right word?— _peeved_ that you've been on vacation so long, and he told me to pick you up a new cell phone. Also, Andy insisted on seeing your new orb friend, too."

Buffy's mouth opened and closed—fish out of water—and she watched Willow pull her laptop free from the over-sized bag. "Will, if you brought Andrew here…"

The witch cut her off. "He'll be joining via web cam."

"Greetings all!" Andrew dramatically welcomed, as soon as Willow had opened the computer. "Oh—I like the apartment, Dawn! I should come over. It looks bigger than mine. I thought the Council budget wouldn't—"

"Hi, Andrew," Dawn interrupted.

Buffy made a face and shared a look with Dawn. It wasn't that they didn't like Andy, really, they just thought he was one of those people you like _more_ if you only see them in small doses. Like twice yearly doses. But Dawn watched her big sister suck it up and force a smile at the laptop camera.

Andrew, hair a little darker, wore a suit and appeared to be on a couch, where a few young women, slayers, were trying to squeeze into the frame. He ignored them, trying, in vain, to push them away. "So," he managed, a little breathless from the effort, "I called Willow to tell her about the awkward but somewhat titillating dream I had about a pizza man and an extra cheese pizza—you know, the dream I called to tell you about yesterday?—and then Willow told me she didn't have time to hear it because she needed to research your unwanted soul issue, and I told her—"

Buffy held up a hand to stop him. "Andy, I really just need Willow to get a read on this thing, so, you know, shut up. Please. And no mentioning that dream in front of my baby sister again."

Andrew pouted, averting his eyes upward, as if he could somehow see the sheepish witch holding the computer in her lap. Willow cleared her throat. "Actually, Andrew had a good theory about why the soul appeared."

"Really?" Buffy asked, frowning.

Dawn tried to follow the conversation but found herself easing down to sit on the sofa. She carefully reached out, lifting the top of the shoe box so that a sliver of light from the orb slipped out. _Thank you._ Dawn felt the gratitude radiating off the ball of light but tried not to let it show on her face.

"...And then _ecto suckto_ , it's zapped inside," Andrew was saying. "You know, like on _Ghostbusters_."

"Wait, are you talking about those guns that shoot light?" Buffy asked.

Dawn frowned. "I missed something."

Andrew huffed at having to repeat himself. " _As I was saying_ , Willow told me the orb is basically meant to hold a soul until it can be put back into its body. So, I thought, what if someone tried to summon a soul, but didn't bring anything to put it in? Or, what if they meant to summon something else from the nether, but got a human soul instead? It would be lost, ungrounded, zooming around without enough form to even show itself as a ghost. If it flew past an Orb of Thesulah or a similar vessel, then, the orb would suck it in, because, you know, that's its job."

Dawn smiled, "Oh, like the ghost traps on _Ghostbusters_. I get it."

"Exactly! Like an electromagnetic field generator in a mouse trap, minus the pedal and batteries. The orb's just more magic than fringe science." Andrew grinned, excited. "Which reminds me, I've been trying to get Giles to okay a budget that would let us try and build an extra large Ecto Containment Unit out of movie props, so if you don't mind talking to him about—"

Buffy reached over, shutting the laptop and cutting off Andrew's request. She glanced up at Willow. "He'll believe me if I say the wi-fi cut out, won't he?"

"Saw it with my own eyes," Willow chirped, and slipped the computer away. "Okay, back on task here. So, going with Andy's theory, it's pretty likely the soul didn't actually mean to interrupt your evening."

"Well it did," Buffy pouted. Then she seemed to rethink the statement. "Well, it would have, if I actually had something resembling a social life."

"Touch it," Dawn blurted. She instinctively curled her own fingers into fists to keep from doing just that. "Maybe you can reach out with your mojo and communicate with him."

Buffy made a face. "Him?"

But Willow nodded. "That's what I'm here for. It's pretty easy to read a mystical object, at least get a feel for its intentions. I've been teaching my students about it all month." Her smile widened with pride at the word 'students'. "They're doing really well, too. Wish I'd known what they know back when we had the Magic Shop."

"We get it—business at Hogwarts is booming. Now, make with the soul groping." Buffy pushed the shoe box at the witch. "We'll just pretend I didn't say that last part…"

"Noted." Dawn was fairly sure the word didn't actually leave her mouth. She was too busy watching, breathless with anticipation, as Willow reached down, gently lifting the orb between three fingers. Its glow was just as unwavering and casting a pale light over her face when she leveled it in front of her eyes.

Willow frowned, her concentration turning to frustration. "Huh."

Buffy leaned closer. "Bad 'huh'?"

Dawn felt it in the pit of her stomach: fresh fear.

_Why did it have to be a witch?_

Dawn's eyes widened a little—those words, they were louder now, when she leaned closer to the orb. "Did you hear him?" she asked, at a whisper. Willow's dumbfounded expression was answer enough. Dawn wasn't sure why, but she covered the question with another. "I mean, did it communicate with you?"

Willow sat the orb down into the rune-covered box—the "curse box," as the soul had called it—and closed the wooden lid with a snap. And, immediately, the sense of dread disappeared from Dawn. She took a breath.

"Nothing happened," Willow announced, sounding as if she'd somehow been wronged by the orb. "Well, this is embarrassing. This never happens to me. I usually get some sort of reading, but all I felt was a living soul. Human. No intent, not origin, no identity." She shook her head, looking distressed. "Maybe I'm losing my touch."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Okay, before you work yourself into a brood… Could the reason you didn't feel anything be because it's _just_ a human soul? That's not quite totally mystical, right? It's more…common."

Willow pouted. "Well, sure. But, what kind of witch can't communicate with the dead when the dead is in her palm? I'm a failure."

"No, you're an awesome _femme_ -Dumbledore. The soul is probably just not on the chatty side."

Dawn stared at her sister, tempted to contradict her, but, instead, she simply sat back against the cushions. Because she knew for a fact the soul was actually of the chatty sort. But she also knew Willow was right—if anyone could have communicated with it, it should have been the most powerful witch on the block. So why was she the one hearing it…feeling it?

Dawn decided it was time to welcome that expected "wiggins" right about now.

A smart girl, a girl with a sense of self-preservation, would probably have spoken up, Dawn knew. It was confession time. Only, she couldn't quite force herself to tell then what she'd felt. How she knew it was a guy. How afraid he'd been to be near a witch. How empty she felt now that his nudging emotions were severed from her. Over the past few years, post-Glory, Dawn had built up her place in the group as the normal one, the girl-Xander with an academic upgrade. Smart, snappy dresser, good with languages: Dawn. Destined to be a kick-ass Watcher. Definitely not a freak anymore. And, bringing this up would—

Saved by the bell. Or, in this case, the cell phone.

The ringtone sounded from inside Willow's bag, and she forced a smile. "Oh, remember that cell phone Giles asked me to pick up for you?"

Buffy bit her lip. "I'm about to get Brittished, aren't I?"

Nevertheless, she took the dreaded phone call, stepping away to perch on the edge of Dawn's desk in preparation for a thorough talking-down-to, twisted-knickers style. Willow had the decency to pretend she didn't know how awkward that conversation would be—Dawn knew she shouldn't be the one feeling guilty about that, but she was. After all, she could have easily of talked Buffy into getting back into her slaying groove. All it would have taken was a particularly nagging comment along the lines of "get your ass out of my apartment." Still, for all her complaints, Dawn didn't mind having her big sister nearby. The way they lived their lives…well, there was no certainty she'd always have the chance be with her family.

"…so I don't think we should destroy it," Willow was saying.

Dawn realized she'd tuned her out, and that she was currently spying on her sister's tense back, trying to distinguish what Giles might be saying on the other end. Oops. She nodded, trying to act as if she were paying attention. "No, definitely shouldn't destroy him—it," Dawn rattled. "Seems kind of inhumane. If we destroy the orb, where will the soul go? It would be lost, just, you know, wandering the void or whatever."

Willow's brow was wrinkled in a way that was teetering on "resolve face" but still in the land of "what are you hiding?" face. "That's what I just said," Willow said, slowly, as if she were speaking to a child. "Dawnie, has this orb thing gotten under your skin? I mean, I know it was kind of weird—no one expects a soul—but, I can find a place to store it. One of my students can put it in safekeeping until we find out who it belongs to…"

"No!" Dawn snapped. She forced a small smile. Out of sight would not necessarily mean out of mind in this case. Dawn could hear him, the soul, and she was the only one. She had a nagging feeling that she already had the answer as to that big fat "why?" but she refused to bring it up until she had more facts. And more facts meant spending a little more time with glowy-ball-guy.

"Well, alright. If you're sure." Willow looked doubtful. "But just keep in mind, even though it seems harmless, it might have been cast out for a good reason. Having a soul doesn't necessarily make someone a nice person."

"I'll be careful," Dawn assured.

"I would feel better if it were locked up somewhere—holding onto someone's soul is a lot of responsibility. For all we know, it belongs to a living person who's now finding themselves all Dexter-like. Or it might belong to someone dead. It might need to move on to the next plane and—"

"I get it." Dawn took the wooden box, sitting it in her lap. The wood already felt warm. "It should be safe here, until we have time to figure out who it belongs to. For all we know, it came here for a reason…"

And she let that thought go, because Buffy was stomping back over to them, looking red-faced. "So, as it turns out," the slayer announced, "my vacation is over. Apparently demons are spawning in Florida."

Willow perked up. "Where in Florida?"

"Umm—all of it?" Buffy shrugged. "Anyhow, the last time these guys decided it was mating season, there were dinosaurs. When they finished making with the nature documentary? Not so much."

"Leave it to Giles to bring up dinosaurs to get you back in the game." Dawn smirked. "Are you going to need any help from my end?"

Buffy's smile was gentle. She leaned over the couch, running her fingers through her sister's long hair. "Nope, Dawnie. We've got it covered. You just stay here. Do your homework. Regain a little normal for the rest of us, okay?"

Normal. Dawn pulled her gaze from her sister, staring at the curse box instead. Normal so wasn't happening.

* * *

Pizza. Extra anchovies. _Check._ Phone call to Brittney about the "slug incident" in Cleveland. _Check._ Books returned to campus library. Fines and Buffy's parking tickets paid _. Check, and check_. Keep an eye on the box. _Double check._

It had been six hours since Willow and Buffy had left, due south-east, with an arsenal of the mystical and pointy variety. Dawn had managed to keep busy. Until now. Sure, there was studying to be done. Always. Maybe some laundry, too. But, for the most part, her day was reaching an end, the point where exhaustion led to couch potato syndrome—which was a particularly dangerous illness considering that relaxation would lead to contemplation and idle hands. Two very bad things.

Dawn plopped down at the center of the sofa, sinking into the cushions. The curse box sat mere inches from her knees. Silent. "Of course it's silent, it's a box," Dawn muttered. A box, as opposed to an oh-so chatty orb. _Genius logic, there_. Dawn huffed and leaned forward, snatching up her prize. She balanced it on her thighs.

"It's not dangerous," she assured herself, "Buffy wouldn't leave it with me if it were dangerous. Nope."

Again with the faulty logic winning. Dawn couldn't help it, though. She lifted the box's lid. Immediately, the warm yellow glow spilled out over her fingers, and, with it, a sense of gratitude. She reached down, pressing two fingers against the crystal. Her skin tingled with the connection.

"I guess being a glowy ball of light sucks, right?" She forced a small smile. "I should probably know the answer to that question."

' _Tell me about it._ '

"Hope you weren't claustrophobic in life."

' _After being in the cage, that was paradise_.' Amusement came in the form of a distant, breathy sound. Dawn recognized it as laughter.

"What cage?"

The orb went quiet, and Dawn wondered if maybe she'd lost the connection. The voice returned, though, a moment later, along with a sense of apprehension _. 'You can hear me… You can hear me, Dawn?'_

Dawn frowned. "How do you know my name?"

_'Uh—your sister said it about a thousand times. Well, she said 'Dawnie,' but I figured you wouldn't want…'_

"Only my family's allowed to call me that." She frowned, suddenly realizing how stupid the question had been. "No one else could hear you, so I wasn't sure if you could hear them."

_'Yeah, I figured._ ' The laughter came again, quieter. _'Before you ask, I have no clue why you can hear me… I'm Sam. You can quit mentally referring to me as 'soul-guy' now.'_

"Sam. I like it. Rolls off the tongue better," Dawn admitted, and blushed. That had sounded kind of flirty. She squashed that thought immediately. "So, Sam, any idea how you ended up in my apartment without a body? And, speaking of which, where is your body? Are you dead?"

_'Answer to all those questions: it's a long story, and I'm sure I'm missing a few pages of it.'_

"Try me." He was quiet again, as if considering the opening. It hadn't occurred to Dawn until that moment that she wasn't the only one having to put out some unearned trust. "Jeeze, you're a lost soul stuck in an orb. Who else are you going to talk to?"

_'Point taken… Would you believe me if I said I'm pretty sure my body is in a different dimension?'_

Dawn raised a brow, her voice decidedly unenthused. "Wow. This must be a Thursday… So, dimensional travel—it's probably best if you start at the beginning."


	3. Club Glowy Ball of Light

He should have done as she asked. He should have started at the beginning. But, Sam really didn't know where the beginning began, where the story of _him_ picked up. Did it start with a fire in a nursery? Did it start with his hero selling his soul? Did it start long ago, with an absent God's plan?

Just to make sure there wasn't an easier way of doing this, he asked her if there was a TV show or book series called _Supernatural_ in this dimension. No such luck, and that particular line of questions got him a raised brow. So, Sam dove in with the information he thought would be most relevant. The "where" part, the answer to the question she'd asked earlier, when he let the mention of the cage slip out.

His story started with Hell. It was a bad starting point, apparently, because, seconds later, he had the disorienting feeling that he was being dropped. The lid slapped down onto the curse box, leaving the orb, leaving him, in total darkness.

No, Sam figured Hell wasn't the beginning she had expected. He couldn't blame her. He'd just admitted to being a Hell escapee, and who goes to Hell? Bad people. Rotten-to-the-core souls. People who made deals with the devil. Demons who had been exorcized. Oh, and people with the last name "Winchester" apparently—because wasn't that beginning to look like a family curse? So, he couldn't blame her for freaking the hell out.

Sam really wished he had his brain, his literal brain. Because, surely, _surely_ , he would have told her something different if he'd been himself.

_'One girl in all the world can hear you, and you just scared her off. Well, done, Sammy-boy.'_ Yeah, Sam's inner-voice sounded a lot like Dean. Dean, who would have slapped him across the back of the head for even thinking about telling this girl—this oh-let's-invite-a-witch-over girl—the entire truth in the first place. Well, that wasn't exactly true. As far as Sam knew, his brother had never been in this exact situation, and he _did_ have a weakness for pretty girls, so maybe Dean would have launched into his own tale. Probably would have started with something other than Hell, though.

_Damn_.

Before he'd screwed up, though, he'd managed to at least pick up on a few things about this dimension, The Never, and about Dawn. In the darkness, in the silence, Sam had little to do other than compile those facts, consider each and every one of them. For starters, when he was staring out of the orb, he could see the apartment, via fish-bowl-cam. Normal looking enough, if one thought the axes above the mantle were decorative or the obscure occult texts on the book shelf merely for late night D&D research. It clued him in quickly that she knew about the supernatural, but he'd been too distracted by the torn-off leaflets of the desk calendar to ask her much.

October 2005.

Only, Sam knew for a fact it was 2010 when he'd swan dived into eternity with Lucifer under his skin. Either Dawn had the really quirky habit of holding on to very old calendars, or he'd traveled back nearly five years.

No—that wasn't exactly right, either, he realized. Dimensional travel didn't have anything to do with time travel, but everything to do with time difference. So, for some reason, either this dimension was behind by a few years or the journey itself had screwed up the difference between the worlds. Of course, Sam wasn't sure how long he'd actually spent in Hell since the big jump. It was hard to keep up with the date when Lucifer was busy ripping out your ribcage and wearing it like a hat. Fun guy.

Still, even though this wasn't his world, he couldn't help but pick up on the logo over the hoodie on the end of the couch. Stanford. And even though the world passed in a kind of rush as he flew into the apartment, he was pretty sure that's where he was, Palo Alto, California. Exactly where his physical body was in October of 2005. Prepping for his future. Partying with his friends. Nearly taking his brother's head off when he broken into— _God_ , and there was Jess. He didn't have a spine, but he felt the chill run up it just the same. This was the last month he had enjoyed with Jess.

A couple years ago, this knowledge alone would have broken him.

Sam shifted his thoughts. He couldn't be locked in here, in darkness, just thinking about what that month meant in his own dimension. This was a different world. A different Stanford. He didn't exist here—he had no evidence of this fact, but he knew it the same way he knew this place was called The Never and that angels weren't permitted to visit it. Ever. And Sam was now certain _that_ tid-bit of knowledge was leftover from the brief time Lucifer had walked in his skin.

Crap. He hadn't even told Dawn about that part yet. About being Satan's meat suit. Cue Freak-out the Sequel. Because what kind of asshole says "yes" to the devil. It would take some explaining.

Sam really wished he could read her mind, know exactly how she was processing this information. Know that she wasn't in fact some evil being enjoying the tale. But, he couldn't. Her thoughts came at him every once in a while, as one-liners, probably just the ones she'd almost said aloud. And he could feel her emotions, too, sense them—which was the main reason he'd given over what little trust he had left.

Between what he'd picked up on, and the conversation he'd heard between the women, and the bit of dialogue he'd shared with Dawn herself, he'd reached a few conclusions, and concentrating on them seemed like a much healthier course of action that thinking about 2005 and Stanford and how damn dark it was inside a curse box…

First up, the sister. Some kind of super-powered hunter called a Slayer. And, apparently all the other slayers were female, too. Which was weird, and Jesus, he could just picture Dean's happy-dog impression if it turned out they weren't evil, just hot and deadly. Tail wagging, saliva, and all. Buffy seemed kind of tiny for a superhero, acted a little ditzy, too, but "acted" was the primary word there. Sam couldn't fully read Dawn's thoughts, but he picked up enough to know that Buffy wasn't an idiot. Fierce, strong, protective, lame, occasionally butt-headed: yeah, Dawn's thoughts were scattered, but they painted a clear enough picture for Sam. Buffy was a big sister. Enough said.

Second up, the witch. Willow. Sam figured the only way his day would get worse included the introduction of Bozo the Clown, but he was wrong. There were always witches… Only, yeah, he'd freaked out a little when she looked like she was about to lay on the mojo, but her magic had felt strange. After a big dose of Hell-time, the demonic was fresh on his mind, but her power had felt centered elsewhere. Not with a demon. In fact, it felt decidedly…neutral. And, Dawn hadn't felt anything other than love for the red-head.

Then there was Dawn herself, the girl who could hear him. When the others touched the orb, he felt like he'd been given Novocain and the dentist was repeatedly tapping him on the cheek. Numb and tingly. When Dawn picked him up, it felt…normal, like her hand was pressed against him, like the cool crystal orb to which he was confined didn't exist and he still had skin. Like he was closer to having a body with her around.

Dawn wasn't a slayer, even if all signs pointed to hunter. Sam understood that almost immediately, but he didn't think she was normal either. And that not normal bit, every time it started to surface in her mind, she'd stomp it down, as if it weren't supposed to exist. Sam knew about that emotional roller coaster, recognized it as the one he used to ride daily, after he found about the Yellow Eyed Demon and what he'd done…

Of course, there were other clues about that not-normal thing, too. Like how she mentioned she understood what it was like to be a glowing ball of light.

_"Oh, or how she glows bright friggin' green, huh, college boy?" –Yeah, inner-Dean, that part, too._

Sam figured if he could breath, he'd be laughing hysterically by this point, because, yeah, the faint green glow to her skin was kinda apparent, but Sam wasn't sure what it meant. No one around her seemed to notice. And, if she was a college student, well, being radioactive might be an issue. So, Sam gave his inner-Dean his bitch face, and told himself that the green thing was due to the fact that he was staring at the world through a curve, without actual eyes, and he was sure mystical things appeared differently to other mystical things.

Because Sam didn't know what the hell she was but "mystical" fit damn well.

_She's never going to open that lid._

Which was his thought right as the box shifted, and the lid slowly lifted. Dawn started down at him, her bright, wide eyes rimmed with pink. _Crying, she's been crying._ Sam was puzzled by the array of emotions leaking out. He reached out to her, _'What's wrong?'_

Her soft palms cupped him, pulling him out of the box. The odd sensation of movement was becoming less disorienting, but it still jarred him from his thoughts.

"I'm sorry I locked you in there," she said, swallowing hard, and held him up to face level.

_'It's okay. I shouldn't have started by telling you about Hell. You had every right to freak out.'_

She shook her head, taking a shaky breath. "It's not that…It's just…" Her voice drifted again, looking for strength. She smiled, tried to, for the next part, as if the notion itself were silly. "I thought that part of me was gone. I thought I was normal now, with Glory gone, and, I just thought I wasn't…"

Her expression took him back; back to Azazel's death. Back to believing that, with Yellow-Eyed dead, all the psychic stuff was put to bed for good. Only it wasn't. All it took was a demonic influence, and it came flooding back again, in a new form.

_'I'm sorry, Dawn.'_ And he meant it. He had no clue what she was talking about, but if it was anything close to…Yeah, sorry didn't cover it.

"So not your fault," she chuckled, even as a tear rolled down her cheek. "Buffy's going to have a kitten when I tell her."

Which she hadn't, Sam noted. Hadn't told anyone. Except for a lost soul she didn't know at all. Dangerous move. Then, he picked up on a thought, one that was close to surface: _The Key_. _I'll always be…no matter what they try to make me believe._

The Key. It stirred something, some memory that wasn't his. It was there between the repeated chorus of _Never, Never, Never Ever._ The Key. The Key wasn't supposed to be a girl, though. Was it?

Sam went quiet, watching her. The curve of her cheek, the open pout at her lips. Sam wished he could reach out, grab hold of her so she couldn't drop him or lock him in a box again. _'Dawn, what's The Key?'_

* * *

There were rules about this. Not so much written rules, but rules, nevertheless.

"Buffy's going to kill me. Kill me!" Dawn took a shallow breath, pacing the room. She spared the orb sitting on the desk beside her, safely balanced on its wooden ring, another glance before a mousey squeal—which she would never admit to making—left her mouth again. "I'm dead. See me? Dead girl walking."

_'Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm still the only dead person in the room.'_

"Oh, thanks, Sam. Like I needed the reminder that not only is my biggest freaking life secret out, but it's a dead man who knows it! And, apparently, I'm not being considerate enough of his delicate situation." Dawn shook her head, half hoping her brain would pull an etch-a-sketch and erase the mere memory. Because, yes, he had asked. Easy enough to stop him there. Put him in the box. Block him out. Report the breach in classified info. But is that what she did? Nope.

Nope. _Nope_ , and now she was totally going to lose _any_ creds she'd earned for being the "smarter" Summers because she'd let it spill. The big secret. Sure, there were lots of family secrets—most of which, apparently, Sam had already picked up on—but the BIG one, the one no person outside the slayer-inner-circle, was supposed to know, that was the one she'd told. It hadn't been all her fault. He'd picked up on some of her thoughts, picked up on the rest while she was mentally screaming at herself.

And now he knew her top-secret origin story. Why didn't she just wear a t-shirt reading: "Interested in opening dimensional doors? I'm a Key. Ask me how."

_'Dawn, I get it, I really do. Just take a breath, already, okay?'_

"I am breathing!" Dawn snapped. She realized, of course, that she probably looked insane, pacing the room, talking to herself. Wasn't like she hadn't done it before, only, this time, someone was actually listening to her ravings. "And death would be the better option if you turn out to be evil—seriously, the nagging I'm going to receive is going to be epic! Willow's going to be all, ' _oh, Dawnie, remember when I told about my chat-room-boyfriend Moloch_ ,' and Buffy's going to say, ' _Haven't I taught you a thing? Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain_ '—because I swear, she's been secretly reading _Harry Potter_ in her free time. I'd put fifty on her calling you Tom Riddle as soon as I let this slip. As if that's not bad enough, Giles— _oh, God_ —he's going to go all British on me and tell me my brain's made of bangers and mash and call me a ' _stupid, stupid, girl'_ like he's never made any mistakes in his life. _Hel-lo?_ Does the name Ripper ring any bells—"

_'Wow… Aaannnd you're still talking.'_

"—of course, this will all be after I'm grounded for life and locked in deep dark padded basement room in Scotland, because, _duh_ , the I'm-a-grown-woman argument isn't valid in the slayer handbook." Dawn tucked her hands under her arms to keep from wringing them. Her voice slowed down to a normal level, and she relented with a breath of air. "Jeeze. I hate when I get in trouble."

' _Feel better?'_

"A little. I learned to babble from the best."

_'Impressive.'_

"Thanks." She spared the orb a small smile and finally stopped in front of it. "Okay, so are you going to tell me why you were in Hell?"

' _Nice transition there.'_

Dawn felt his trepidation building and shook her head. "Oh, no, you don't. Spill. It would really be hard for me to get more freaked out right now, so best we get it over with."

_'It's a long story.'_

She shrugged. "I've got class in the morning. Shorten it."

Dawn recognized the sound in her head as a snort. He was snorting at her. She rolled her eyes, ready to launch back into her tirade, when he spoke up.

_'Short version: there was an Apocalypse, and my brother and I were at the center of it. Lucifer rode my skin to the prom. We opened his cage in Hell, and I jumped in it with him still inside me as a last ditch effort to save the world… Sounds kind of anticlimactic when I say it that way.'_

Dawn raised a brow. "Seriously?" She puckered her lips, eyes narrowed, as if she were still deciding whether or not to believe him, but a chuckle escaped, nevertheless. "Okay then."

' _Okay then?_ '

"What am I supposed to say? Hey, Apocalypses, they suck. Granted, most of the ones we've averted haven't been quite so Book of Revelations, but, yeah. Still sucked." She cocked her head. "And, of course, I'm totally going to require more info than that if I'm going to help you, but it's a start."

_'Help me?'_

"Well, I've run across texts on dimensional travel before—obviously—so maybe there's something out there that can tell us exactly where you came from and how to get you back. Hopefully, there's a route that doesn't require passing back through a Hell dimension."

The orb was silent a moment, but its glow brightened, ever so slightly. Dawn knew what that was: hope. It made her smile widen.

' _Dawn… I really hope you're not evil_.'

"Right back at you." Dawn picked him up, rolling him into her palm. "Which, I'm obligated to go into threat time here: you sell me or my family out, try to use me for wicked Hell-opening purposes, or attempt to suck my life force out all incubus-like, I'm going to make with the smashing. My sister knows how to use a troll hammer. I know people who could store a soul so deep that you'll find yourself wishing for Hell, just for the entertainment value. And, Willow? Most badass witch in existence. Orb go poof."

_'Fair enough. My turn… If try to use me to end the world or attempt to seduce me into embracing my inner Dark Side or sell me at some sort of soul black market, my brother's going to find you and cut your head off. Dimensional gap or no dimensional gap.'_

Dawn nodded. "Wise man—decapitation's always a good rule of thumb. Then we're in agreement? Evil deeds equal death. Gotcha. You know what, Sam? This might just be the beginning of a really weird friendship."

The bell sound returned: laughter. _'We glowy balls of light have to stick together, after all.'_

* * *

Heels clicked against the stone floor of the never-ending corridor, their pace quick and frustrating to its other occupants, that was to say, the other occupants of Hell. They stood in a line, holding their numbers, eternally bored, eternally in the agony of the between. Lilah surveyed them with a grin. She couldn't help it. Crowley had a special touch. Efficient, effective, subtle—much like Wolfram & Hart's special mock-Hell dimension, their waiting room. Lilah couldn't say she enjoyed her time there, but she could appreciate the usefulness of it from a business perspective.

"Love what you've done with the place," she noted, again.

Crowley paused beside her, a crooked grin at his lips. "See, that's what I like about you, darling. We're on the same wavelength." Wickedness sparkled in his eyes, and he turned on her, ignoring the massive number of souls beside them. "And, being as such, you probably already know what I'm thinking."

"I can use my imagination," she said, not missing the threat. "But, let's be honest, Mr. Crowley. You're not entirely unhappy to see me."

"True. This way I can skip the search party and go straight to the evisceration."

She cocked a brow. "I have news."

Crowley straightened, holding up a hand to stop her, and shot a sideways glance at the haggard souls closest to them. "It's rude to listen in," he snapped, and flicked his wrists. Their ears fell to the floor, severed from their heads. They opened their mouths to howls and found themselves choking on the ends of their own butchered tongues. "Now we can have a bit of privacy. Do go on."

She shook her head, impressed. "I must say, you have a flair for—"

"Quit kissing my ass, and tell me you have my bloody Key." He took a step closer, raising a hand to brush his fingers along the scarf around her neck. His voice was more restrained when he added. "After all, that's what you must be here about. Surely, you wouldn't be wasting my time. Since your last plan fell through, I've been stuck working with an angelic infant, and, as you can imagine, my patience is wearing thin. Speaking of which, why didn't you nab the cocky bastard while he was here?"

Lilah frowned. "Yes, we received your message about his visit, but, as it turns out, our summoners are still having problems pulling an angel out of their hats. We've decided to invoke other measures to get what we want."

His fingers tightened on the satin knot. "And where, _exactly_ , does that leave our agreement?"

"Still in place," she managed, despite the clench at her throat. She kept her composure. "As I assured you before, this is all going to work to your favor, Mr. Crowley. In fact, our new plan of action means you're going to receive your compensation early. Sam Winchester's soul is going to prove to be useful, if we play our cards correctly."

Crowley released her, patting down the fabric and lazily pulling his hand away to rest at his side. "Well, then. That's what I like to hear." He turned to walk away, then stopped, glancing over his shoulder at her. "I'm very busy top-side these days, darling. So, next time you call me, make sure you have something a tad more substantial than an update, understand? Wouldn't want you to lose that pretty little head again, just because mean-ol' Crowley's had a bad day, would you?"

"No, sir."


	4. Objectifying Men

The lamp's glow was nearly blinding. Dawn reached up, rubbing the grit out of her eyes, then adjusted the shade so that the light focused on the ancient book open on her desk, stirring up a wave of dust with every fresh crack along its spine. She huffed, and flipped the next page over, positioning her notebook in front of her to scribble down a translation.

_'Page.'_

Dawn acknowledged the request with a grunt and flipped the page for the second book, an English translation (because, apparently, being a soul didn't mean he could understand all languages), sitting at the other end of the desk, in front of the orb. She paused in the movement and snorted, which turned into a full-on giggle.

_'Are there dirty jokes in your book? Because, if so, we're switching.'_

"No, no, it's not that," Dawn waved him off, still chuckling. "I just realized. My paperweight is reading. How hilarious is that?"

' _Very_ ,' Sam answered, dryly, ' _it_ _gets funnier with every gallon of coffee you consume_. _I'm surprised you're not vibrating out of your seat._ '

"I'm running on like, three hours of sleep, Bubble Boy," she defended, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. "And, alright, three pots of coffee—but that's entirely your fault, mister. You're the one who decided he just had to see another episode of _Dr. Who_. Andrew would be so proud."

' _We were watching it for research purposes.'_

"Oh, sure, keep telling yourself that. Just in case we get access to a TARDIS." Dawn leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms high above her head. "So, I've got class in three hours. Thank God it's a Freshman Mickey."

' _Time sure does fly when you're bored out of your damn mind.'_

Dawn frowned, disturbed by the wave of frustration coming off the orb. It wasn't anger, and it wasn't directed at her, but still… Dawn felt like a crappy hostess.

Sam, in his orb dwelling, had been with her for nearly two weeks now, and while she left for class, spent hours at the library, and went out to eat with her study buddies, he was stuck here, in her apartment. Even though she left him with a steady line up of running audio books and television shows, she knew there was only so much of four walls a person could take. Body or no body.

She chewed her bottom lip, considering her options. Dawn didn't like the idea of him being seen or being so close to hard concrete sidewalks and clumsy students, but if he had to help her with any more homework, he'd probably start charging her—damn if he wasn't useful when it came to her civics classes.

"You said you went to Stanford, right? How do you feel about taking a campus tour?"

' _You mean, getting out of here? At this point, a tour of the grocery store would be paradise.'_

Dawn beamed, excited to get away from the stack of musty texts, and bounced toward her open bedroom door, slipping out of her sweats in her haste. She kicked them inside the room, toward the hamper, and stepped back out into the main room, jeans in tow.

"Did they have the JoJo ChocoTea Bar when you went there? It's great—not that you can fully enjoy all the drink perks, but there's a group of wanna-be hippies who go there after the lunch rush and reenact scenes from the Cheech and Chong movies." She wiggled into her skinny pants. "Way funnier than it sounds, especially when the lit majors show up and pick a fight with the drama kids. Hilarious."

_'Sounds like.'_

There was a little strain to his voice. Dawn paused in her movements, pulling a fresh shirt over her head. Before she could question him, though, she noticed the orb had a pinkish glow to its surface.

"I'm sorry if all this Stanford talk is upsetting you."

_'Uh—no, it's not that… I'm fine. It's nothing.'_

She raised a brow, trying to interpret the emotion leaking out, and when it struck her why he'd sounded as if he were choking on his own words, her cheeks reddened. "Sam Winchester! You've been watching me get dressed? You _have_ been watching me get dressed—jeeze, you could have said something, you know!"

' _Should I have closed my eyes?'_

"Ha, ha, very funny, jerk," she bit, but found herself fighting a grin. She'd gotten to know him scary well over the past few weeks, and entertained too many of her own fantasies concerning what he might look like in a human form, to be fully offended. "You're kind of pervy for a guy without a body."

' _Oh, please, it's not like you've ever taken off everything—_ ' His voice trailed off, embarrassed by the admission. ' _Sorry. I'll try to look elsewhere next time.'_

The frustration returned in a wave that felt like a slap across the face. This, she knew, wasn't caused by a hermit lifestyle. This was because she'd just reminded him that he didn't have any means of— _ehem_ —working out of said frustration in a physical way. Dawn was _this_ close to apologizing, because she knew she should have been the one to think before stripping, but then she felt the devil on her shoulder settling in for the show.

"No problem." She smirked and stared down at her fresh shirt. "Darn," she muttered, "looks like this one has a mustard stain on the front. Guess, I'll have to find something else—" She reached past her door, to the tee hanging out of her dresser, and then slowly lifted the one she was wearing up past her stomach. "But, don't look, now, okay?"

' _How the Hell am I supposed to not_ … _You can't be seriously. I can't believe you're teasing me.'_

She twisted her torso, her abs tense, as if she were struggling to get the shirt past her bra. Then she turned slightly, so that he was stuck with a view of narrow shoulder blades and lacy white straps. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, playfully.

_'Very funny, Dawn. I get it—I should have spoken up. It was a dick move. Now put your shirt on.'_

"I _am_ putting my shirt on," she said, with a pout. She dropped the offending blouse and bent forward slightly to slip the red tee over her arms, shimmying to shake the cotton down over her body, and to give him a glimpse of her full cups. The orb's color brightened, darkening to match the shade of the shirt.

"Huh." So that was what lust felt like when someone else was the one feeling it—Dawn figured she should be just as embarrassed as he was, but she couldn't help it. Power, that's what she felt. Control. It was way more entertaining than it should have been. _Maybe that's why people enjoy using handcuffs so much_ …

But, as fun as it was, Dawn felt a tiny nudge of regret for it. It just helped cement the fact that he couldn't do anything about the peepshow because he was a lost soul. One she'd promised to help, and hadn't. _Yet_. She tensed. Yet was the important word.

' _You're totally going to get paid back for this, Dawn Summers._ '

"All done now," she announced, pretending not to hear him.

' _You're evil. You know that, right? Pure evil.'_

* * *

Buffy stared at the phone, a blank expression on her face, her sister's quick goodbye still ringing in her ears. She opened her mouth, as if to speak, then closed it again, frowning.

"Is something the matter?"

Buffy looked up to see Giles standing a few feet away, a cup of tea in his hand. From the worried expression on his face, he might have already asked the question twice. She wanted to brush it off, all nonchalant we've-got bigger-things-to-deal-with, but Buffy couldn't.

Thankfully, as full as the estate, one of the headquarters for the Slayer Organization, might be, the walls remained very thick. Buffy didn't want the other slayers getting a glimpse of Paranoid Big Sister Buffy.

"We've got to do something about that orb."

Giles raised a brow. "The what?" He blinked. "Oh, you mean the Orb of Thesulah that's been troubling your sister, of course. Has something happened to Dawn?"

"Not exactly." Buffy couldn't immediately put her finger on why her last two phone conversations with her sister had bothered her. Now, Dawn's words had fully sunk in. "It's just—I think she's getting attached to it. Like, stray-kitten attached."

Giles took a seat on the edge of his desk, sipping at his drink. "To the orb?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "I realize that sounds insane, but she's had it for over a month now. Willow hasn't been able to find a spell that'll help with identifying the soul without, well, more than just a soul. And, Andrew told me that Dawn's been asking him to ship all sorts of texts to her."

"Your sister's obsessing," Giles concluded. "I can't say that it's particularly healthy, but the orb hasn't exhibited any negative effects yet… I can't honestly say I see a problem with your sister taking it on as a project. It's certainly keeping her busy."

Keeping her busy. Buffy shook her head. Keeping Dawn busy and out of Slayer business had been her goal the last time she'd taken her "vacation" to Cali. Dawn might have believed Buffy was simply there for a break, but the rest of the Scoobies knew the whole story. They'd gotten intel on a hit—someone had put money on her sister, and Dawn, a registered student, wasn't exactly hard to find. Buffy and the others had agreed that keeping their youngest out of harm's way was easier if she was more distanced from the Slayer Organization itself. Of course, they'd let Dawn believe the decision was entirely her own to insure that she didn't do the direct opposite.

Buffy had stayed with her just long enough to make sure they'd officially stopped whoever had been interested in her sister. But she couldn't stay forever, even if she wanted to. Duty called.

Now, though, Buffy was regretting leaving Palo Alto so soon.

"You don't get it." Buffy sighed. "She's attached. Like, she's calling the soul a 'him' and telling me how he's just as worthy of saving as any other person we've helped. And, when I ask her what she's been doing to keep busy, the conversation always circles back to that orb. It's weird, Giles."

He sat down his cup, crossing his arms over his chest, and took a moment to digest, his eyes darting around the large study. "A 'him'?" Giles shook his head, his focus returning to his slayer. "Such attachment seems to imply that she has a means of communicating with the soul inside the orb. Has Dawn said anything—?"

"No," Buffy interrupted. "But she's being extremely vague whenever I bring it up. Like she doesn't want me to know if she's figured out how to talk to it or not. I mean, if she's working with a Ouija board or something, why is she so not-talky. It's un-Dawn, and I don't like it."

The corner of Giles' mouth twitched. "Un-Dawn. Can't have that, can we?"

"I know it sounds nuts, but I don't like my little sister keeping secrets from me. Especially ones in the form of glowing unknown entities."

Giles nodded, his expression losing its mirth. "If you suspect the orb might be to blame, then the solution is very simple. Take it from her."

"Yeah, Dawnie's going to take that really well… She already complains that we don't treat her like an adult." Buffy crossed the room, plopping down beside him. "I know you guys need me right now but—"

"Say no more." Giles reached out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "But might I make a suggestion? Xander's just finished his work with the pack of werewolves in Vancouver. Perhaps, we should give him a call. Dawn's always had a deep affection for him—heaven knows why…" Buffy slapped his thigh for that one "…Yes, well, I think he might be able to get through to her. Perhaps we should send him to her first, and by the time we arrive, she might be ready to get rid of the orb. We can take it to the coven, see if they know of anyone who might be able to send the soul on its way."

Buffy cocked her head. "So, an intervention?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Why do I have the feeling this is going to go all sorts of bad."

* * *

It didn't happen the first time she took him out, or the second. Not even the third. But, eventually, one breezy mid-morning, Sam broke down.

Dawn had been preparing for it. The whole feeling-what-he-feels thing had left her completely aware of what emotions were coming to surface every time she brought him to class with her, tucked in her bag so that the other students wouldn't a.) notice she had a crystal ball—because that makes you the most popular person in the crowd—and b.) call security because of an unidentified glowing object in the corridors. Sometimes Sam would make one of his silent comments to her during lecture, about having the class, about the best study spot in the library stacks that she hadn't managed to find yet, about the vending machine she'd somehow missed that still sold Snow Ball cakes.

So, no, he didn't pretend the university was unfamiliar, but he held back, not explaining the long moments of silence, when regret and pain and confusion would swell up in him, seep out of her bag in the form of a too-warm weight against her hip.

Then, that morning, she settled in behind a tree on the grassy yard, checked to make sure no one was watching, and pulled him out. Nested against the thick root of the tree, she heard a sound that could have been mistaken for the wind, if she didn't already know it was all in her head: Sam, his long, even sigh.

' _I had lunch with Jess here once_ ,' he said.

It was the first time he'd offered any sort of explanation.

Dawn hadn't needed it, because she already knew that visiting the school would potentially be a minefield for her bubble boy. Honestly, she was only surprised it had taken him so long bring it up again. It hadn't taken but one visit to Stanford for her to get a summary of his life here. Major, schedule, living quarters, friends, and…Jess, the steady girlfriend he'd had during his time away from his family. Jess, who had died just like his mother because a demon thought her death worked in its best interest.

"We can go somewhere else," Dawn offered.

She waited. Dawn didn't want to admit it, but she was nervous about his reaction. She didn't even want to consider why, but she also felt a nudge of jealousy toward this beautiful girl she'd never get to meet. Dawn didn't want to think too much about that because thinking about it would mean admitting to herself that Sam's love life, past or present, somehow concerned her. He was the boy without a body, a soul in need of help, at the very least a Slayer Organization "client," at the very most just a friend…right? Not exactly, she thought, frowning. What did it say about her current relationships that she'd even grown this close to him, much less that she was worried about him still being hung up on his ex?

' _No,_ ' Sam finally answered. _'Hey, Dawn? I know I might look like I'm made of glass right now, but I'm not, you know, fragile. Okay, maybe literally, yes, I am. But not because of… It was a long time ago. It doesn't hurt to talk about her anymore_. _Not like it used to._ '

God, she really hoped he hadn't picked up on any of those earlier thoughts. "I think I know what you mean," she replied, instead. "When Mom died, I was really messed up. Thinking about her hurt. But now, I still miss her, but instead of wanting to cry about it, I sometimes find myself smiling, because I'm not so much caught up on the dead part. The memory of her makes me happy." She smiled softly, leaning back to let the bark of the tree catch her hair. "Guess the whole 'time heals' thing wasn't such a load of crap after all."

Sam's warmth rolled over her outstretched hand. It was almost as good as a touch, and she appreciated it.

_'I know Jess wouldn't have blamed me… But I know it's my fault, what happened to her, even if I didn't do it. It never would have happened to her if it wasn't for me. But, I can't even convince myself that I'd rather we'd never met. It makes me selfish, I know, but I wouldn't want to trade those memories._ '

"Damn it, Sam," Dawn snapped, and sat up straight, scooping up the orb. "That makes you human, not selfish. Also, while we're on the topic, Armageddon isn't your fault, going Dark Side doesn't mean you _are_ Dark Side, and your brother isn't dead—I may have never met the guy, but the way you described him, if he was dead, he would have already have found a way to find you. Unless you were lying to me, and he's actually not as tenacious as Buffy…"

Sam chuckled. _'I wasn't lying. And you're right about Dean._ ' He paused, leaving it there, as if he didn't quite believe the rest. ' _So, how long have you been waiting to unleash that spiel?_ '

"A couple weeks," Dawn admitted, and sat him back down on the grass. "You're just so darn emotionally stilted for a freaking soul!"

_'Chick-flick moments weren't really embraced in my family._ '

Dawn shot the orb a sharp glance but stopped herself from commenting on any part of that sentence. Instead, she mentally added "pester Sam for more info on his father" to her to-do list.

' _You're late for class._ '

"So, we're having a moment, and you decide to change the subject. I thought you said your brother was the one who always pulled that—"

' _No, seriously. You're late._ '

Dawn glimpsed her cell phone and cursed under her breath. "I hate when my crystal ball is always right."

* * *

Rule 1 of Purse Dates, don't talk about Purse Dates. Rule 2 of Purse Dates, don't talk about Purse Dates.

Both rules worked out really well. For starters, Dawn was pretty sure Sam would crack his ball if she called their about-town visits anything that reminded him that he was stuck in a purse for most of the journey. Also, Dawn was pretty sure she'd throw herself off a bridge if she verbally referred to what they did as "dates." Sure, catching a band at the local hangout, checking out the _Midsummer Night's Dream_ rehearsals, shopping at the occult stores, taking long walks through the park… Okay, she could understand how one might _misconstrue_ their time together as a form of dating, but that didn't mean she was going to bring it up. Not if her life depended on it.

It was almost habit now, walking along the sidewalk, silent cell phone held to her ear—because, yes, people did look at you like you were crazy if you were talking to your purse.

' _Dawn, you're kind of edgy_.'

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well…" She let the comment hang, considering why she felt so worked up. It wasn't actually because of her "purse date" label. No, she'd been "edgy" all evening, as they trekked to her classes, to the library, and everywhere in between, and she hadn't really considered why the hair on the back of her neck was standing up.

She absently glanced over her shoulder, as if checking the exit to the lot where she'd left her car parked. The entry to the apartment building was only a few yards away, but her step quickened, nevertheless.

Dawn knew this feeling, even if she wasn't sure when it had sunk in. That chill, like wet fingers on her spine, meant danger. Someone had been watching her.

Lately it had been hard for her to distinguish between "someone" and Sam, and she was going to blame his presence for throwing off her game. She waited until she was well into the building before she bothered to take a breath and answer Sam.

"I think someone might have been following us," she said, into the phone.

She could feel Sam's unease stirring. ' _Did you see someone?_ '

"Just a feeling."

_'You should trust those.'_

She nodded, even though he couldn't see her. By the time she made it up the elevator and reached her front door, she was nearly trembling, her adrenaline pumping. So, when she opened said-door and found a man, ten feet away, lounging on her couch, she should have jumped out of her skin and reached for the stake buried in her purse. Instead, she gasped aloud in relief and tossed her keys at the dozing figure.

"Butt-head!" she snapped. "Get your feet off my coffee table!"

Xander startled awake, jumping up off of the couch. "Wasn't sleeping," he muttered, before catching himself. He blinked his good eye a few times to ward of the blurriness of not-sleep, and then his face broke into a bright smile. "It's about time. Does your sister know you stay out this late on school nights?"

Dawn was across the room in an instant. She threw a playful punch at his arm before leaning in for a bear hug. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming to spy on me?"

Xander chuckled. "Spy? Wow, feel the love." Nevertheless, he deepened the embrace a moment before gently pushing her back. "Well, it looks like all fingers and toes are accounted for. Guess I can haul my pirate ass back to base again and report my findings."

"Shut up, and get on your ship, Captain," Dawn snorted, knowing he wasn't headed anywhere. "Cold pizza?"

Even with months between seeing each other, their friendship picked up directly where it had off, with him picking anchovies off a slice and clicking his root beer bottle against hers in toast. And even though the scene could have easily have come from her childhood, Dawn was happy she was an adult now, which meant Xander was "her" friend, not just Buffy's, and that she wasn't just the kid who needed the goofy lug to watch over her.

"Okay, so, what are you really here for?" Dawn asked, finishing off her crust.

Xander had already run through his usual "How are your classes going? Any boys I need to have Buffy hit?" interrogation and followed it with a few amusing, and somewhat gory, tales of werewolf rehabilitation. He frowned, confused. "I need a reason to visit?" He caught her eye, his expression sheepish. "Uh, free pizza?"

Dawn raised a brow. "That the best you've got?"

He fell back into his chair, easily defeated. "If you tell Buffy I folded this quickly, I'm going to give Andrew a plane ticket to California for Christmas and tell him he's invited to stay for your entire break."

"Your secret is safe with me."

Dawn tried to keep her voice light, but she was having a hard time with the façade. She knew Buffy had been put-off by their last phone conversation about the orb, but she hadn't expected the gang to send Xander to spy on her. She glanced over to her desk, where she'd carefully sat her purse, Sam still inside. He'd been fairly quiet since Xander's arrival, only interrupting her to make sure the newcomer was safe. And human. Sam was kind of species-ist that way.

"This is about the Orb, isn't it?"

Xander sighed. "Buffy's concerned with the amount of time you've been spending on it."

Dawn felt her cheek twitch in a dangerous smirk. "So, she's fine with me doing a research project when you guys need help, but one soul isn't worth the extra effort?"

Xander shook his head. "That's not what any of us are saying. But, Dawn, that was kind of the point when you went to school. I mean, it was so that the research could be pushed off to the others, and you could get back to normal for a while. That's what you wanted, right? Some time spent as a normal girl?"

"But I'm not normal," Dawn said, her voice low.

Xander took it to mean she was upset and reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I hate to remind you, Dawn, but despite the fact that we're completely awesome and everything, you and I are the closest thing to 'normal' in our big freaky family."

Dawn smiled wistfully. "I think we had this conversation back when the world was ending."

He returned the grin. "Yeah, I never said I was original." He let his hand drop away. "I think Giles wants to get a look at your orb-soul-thing, and I'm headed back to Scotland after this. Is it okay if I take it with me?"

"Xander…" Dawn was already shaking her head, and he cut her off.

"Hey, come on now, Dawnie—you've had it for nearly two months now, and we all know you're pretty awesome at the Watcher-like super-researching. Don't you think that if you were going to find an answer here, you would have?"

' _Maybe he's right, Dawn… Your life shouldn't come to a standstill because of me._ '

"Shut up," Dawn hissed.

"No reason to get upset," Xander replied. "It's just a suggestion."

She groaned, letting her forehead drop into her hand for a moment. "I wasn't talking to you," she admitted. Before he could ask, she went on. "I know. I've tried the Restoration Spell in nearly every variation, so I know it's not going to work, at least not this far away from his body. I've tried basic location spells, too, and gotten zip."

" _His_ body? Wait, were you—"

She ignored him, stood up, walked across the room, and pulled the glowing orb from her purse. "I've looked for any info on finding some sort of soul-body glue—because, hey, we know a few vampires who could use some of that, too. But I haven't tried everything yet, and I'm not giving up. And, no, Giles can't do a better job of it than me because I can do one thing he can't—"

' _Umm, Dawn? Are you sure about this?_ '

"—I can talk to him, Xander. I can communicate with Sam."

Xander cocked his head to the side, lost. "Who the hell is _Sam_?"


	5. I Dream of Sammy

Sam didn't have a head, so, in theory, he shouldn't have had a headache. But he did.

Dawn had let a bit of the secret out, and what had ensued, while not a full-out shouting match, was an aggravating tangle of insinuations and accusations— _"You don't even know what he is, Dawn!" "If he wanted to hurt me, he already would have, Xander!"—_ which was always fun. And, once again, Sam found that he was at the center of the dialogue, with no ability to actually speak aloud and take up for himself.

Xander, the eye-patch wearing hunter who was apparently one of Dawn's oldest friends, and possibly one of her oldest crushes, currently hated him. Okay, maybe hate was too big a word—Xander didn't seem to think Sam was human enough to actually hate. Distrust? Want to smash? Sure. But hate? Sadly, Sam couldn't blame the guy, either. If he were in the same situation, if his brother were chatting it up with a crystal ball that claimed to be harmless, he'd probably have already destroyed the thing.

Still, Sam knew his emotions were all over the place, confusing Dawn even more—because, while he liked the idea that Dawn had so many people looking out for her, he didn't like how she'd greeted this guy. Sam knew he was in no position to be peeved by how her face had flushed when they'd hugged—way too long, by the way—or when Dawn used the words "bestest Xander-shaped bud ever" to describe Cyclops. _You sound kind of jealous to me, Samantha._ There went his inner-Dean again, butting in. _Not jealous_ , he corrected Dean. _Concerned_.

But concerned over what, exactly?

Oh, the part where Xander might decide to grab the orb, lock it in a curse box, and keep it there for all eternity? Yeah, that part. Apparently, it was part of Dawn's concerns as well, since she'd made a feeble attempt at peace with her friend— _"I'll think about what you said, okay?"—_ and excused herself for bed, not so subtly picking up the orb and taking it with her.

Which is how Sam found himself currently nestled atop her second pillow. After two hours of talking to him in heated whispers about nothing in particular, she was asleep, peaceful, one arm beneath her head, shadowing half her face, the other outstretched over the bedspread so that her fingertips rested gently on him. They didn't need a lamp, not with him glowing faintly, sending streams of now-pinkish light over the faintly green radiance of her porcelain skin.

He'd never been positioned so that he could watch her sleep before, or left touching her for so long.

' _Dawn, there's something I've been wanting to try._ '

She was too deep into her sleep for the gentle warning to stir her. Sam weighed his options. Waking her would defeat the purpose of his…experiment, but he felt like a creep trying it out without her permission. Well, if it worked, he could always ask her then.

_'I hope you don't hate me for this.'_

Over the past week, he'd been picking up on her emotions more clearly, feeling more connected to her. He noticed images, too, when she was distracted, tired. As if her subconscious mind lost its guardedness, a picture would slip through, just a fragment of a shape. Her sister's eyes, a scene from a television show, a page she'd been translating. A woman's kind face—Sam recognized Joyce Summer's smile from the photo frame on her desk. These were thoughts, Sam had realized, given form, but he'd only picked up on them a few times.

Asleep, at ease, he wondered if he could try to bridge the gap between them, slip his own images to her.

Sam steadied himself, considering what felt different between his private thoughts and those loud enough for her to hear. Then he did something he hadn't managed since he'd escaped Hell. He concentrated on closing his eyes. A feat made more difficult without eye lids.

The room grayed around the edges, until all he could focus on was that emerald shine—the energy of the Key. Then it disappeared, too. But, instead of black nothingness, the world opened up in fresh new colors. Daylight hues, coral, orange, yellow, cutting through the landscape and too bright to ignore. Sam, blinked, disoriented, then—

Sam circled back. "I blinked," he said, dumbly. Then realized he had a mouth, and hands, too. He patted down the flannel over his taunt stomach, staring down at his boots. These were clothes he'd owned. These were his hands. He reached up, touching his face— _his_ face—and laughed aloud.

Then he tried to look out at the world again. Whatever was beyond the tuff of grass beneath him was too bright for him to make out, too intense, but the rushing sound of incoming waves filled his ears, as if he were on a beach. When he turned from the light, he found himself in a neighborhood, facing a house. The sound of the water receded, replaced by a bird's whistling song.

He'd never seen this place before, but it was more solid than the house-like shades flanking it, and exactly what he expected a normal home to look like. He smiled, realizing that this must have been Dawn's house, the one destroyed in Sunnydale.

It had worked. He could barely believe it, but it _had_. He was in Dawn's head.

"Dawn?" he called out. "Dawn, it's Sam."

The front door opened, but she didn't appear. Sam made his way inside, his steps cautious—his last experience inside someone else's dreams had taught him diligence.

A staircase was just past the door, but, to the left, where he imagined a living room should have been, was an art classroom, filled with teenagers sketching formless charcoal images. The model was at the center, laying on a gurney, covered in a white cloth that cast shadows over the natural curves of what appeared to be a woman's body. The image chilled him, and he stumbled back into the next room.

Seconds ago, he could have sworn there was a dining room behind him, but now the entryway opened into a cemetery. The overly bright daylight was gone, replaced by starless midnight blue, too stark to be real. When he turned a circle, the house was gone, and he was alone in this dead place… Then he heard it, the too-familiar sound of a shovel cutting into dirt.

Sam followed it past tombstones and statues of eyeless angels. A mausoleum stood to his right, giving off the faintest scent of cigarettes and blood, but he ignored it. The sound was more important. He found her behind a tree, not two yards away from him.

Dawn stood, barefoot in a strange gown that looked as if it would have been more appropriate at a Renaissance Faire and knee-deep in a shallow grave. She was the one holding the shovel, stabbing it into the dirt, and throwing up measly scoops. When she hunched forward to dig deeper, he could see the dateless headstone in front of her.

_Buffy Anne Summers_  
Beloved Sister, Daughter, and Friend.  
(She's dead because of you, Dawn. Again.)

The words turned his stomach.

"Dawn?"

She paused in her movements, her back still to him. "I have to get this done. She's going to need it soon." Shovel bit earth again, and she hesitated. "Did you bring Mr. Gordo? We forgot to put him with her last time, and she got lonely down there."

Sam stepped forward, letting his hand rest on her shoulder. He gently took the shovel from her grip. "Dawn, you're having a nightmare. This isn't real."

She turned to face him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Who are—?" Then they widened. "Oh, I know you, don't I? When did you get a face?"

Sam forced himself to smile. "I was born with one, actually."

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. He found himself back in the house, standing at the foot of the staircase. Only, this time, Dawn was with him, clean feet planted on the first two steps so that she had to look down at him. The gown was gone, replaced by a pale blue summer dress the same hue as her eyes. Her lips parted in a silent question.

"Sam?" she finally managed. "You…you _feel_ like Sam."

A weight lifted off of his chest. "Yeah, it's me."

"Is this real?" She shook her head. "I mean, of course it's not real. It's a dream. But, are you really here? Or am I just imagining what you'd look like—because if I am, I owe my brain a thank you."

Sam recognized the expression in her wandering eyes, then. She was admiring him. He felt heat rise to the surface of his skin. He didn't have to hear Dean's voice to know his brother would have cracked up at the school-girl blushing.

"It's really me. I wasn't sure if this would work." He reached back, scratching the back of his head sheepishly—and, _God,_ did it feel good to be able to do that. "I'm sorry I didn't ask for permission. I know this is…invasive. But you were asleep beside me, and I…I just reached out."

"Wow." A smile broke her face. She raised her hand, reaching out to drop her fingertips against his cheek, then pulled away. "I can feel you. I mean, _really_ feel you. Like it's real."

He smirked at the brief contact. "Oh, trust me—you'd be surprised how much you can feel in a dream. Had a guy come at me with a baseball bat in one."

She raised a brow. "What is it with nightmares and baseball bats?" She shrugged the question off. "I can't believe you're actually in my dream. This is crazy."

"A glowing soul orb was sane?" She snorted. Sam found it endearing. "So, this was the Summers' house, then? It's nice."

Her eyes widened, an even bluer shade in the brightness of her dreamscape. For the first time, Sam realized she wasn't glowing a shade of green. Her skin was smooth, delicate, from her long legs to her bare shoulders, and flushed in all the right places. He took an automatic step forward, as if to get a better look, and she saw the movement as an invitation to grab hold of his hand.

"I've got to show you my room!" she said. Her excitement was infection, and Sam grinned back at her. "It's pretty lame, sure, but…it's been forever since I've seen it. Come on."

Sam trailed up the stairs behind her. She stopped in the hallway, staring down it with a frown on her face. He didn't blame her. The door at the end was…odd. It looked ancient, made of rough planks of wood, carved with runes and—Sam stood up a bit straighter—were those Enochian sigils?

"What's that?" he asked.

"That's the one I can't figure out how to open," she said, disappointed.

"I recognize some of the marks. The angels use them. But I thought you said there weren't any angels in this dimension?"

"Maybe something else uses the language, too." She shrugged. "They're based on the protection runes we use sometimes in concealment spells—when we're pulling out the big guns. Or when Buffy's having my apartment evil-proofed. She said an ally of ours showed her how to use them. They're supposed to keep you hidden from the "all-seeing eyes"—seers and whatnot—and, if you use them right, even surveillance equipment. Which is nifty. But, unfortunately, they're easier to get wrong than right."

"Surveillance equipment. That part would have been useful, Cas," Sam muttered, instinctively running a hand over his ribs. "Why are they here?" he asked, aloud.

Dawn shrugged. "I guess I've been trying to protect this door, subconsciously. Keep it secret. I didn't tell Xander about the dimensional stuff yet. Not all of it. I guess I'm still hiding the fact that I want to find a way to get you back there."

Sam's eyes narrowed, and he stepped toward the door, pulling away from her. The knob didn't work, and he expected that a kick to its core would be just as ineffective. "Are you sure you put them here, the sigils?" He didn't wait for her to voice her answer aloud. "What if they're—?"

His voice broke off when the walls shook and a fresh one slid out, covering the doorway. Sam's eyes widened, and he pressed a hand against the slab of solid sheetrock.

"That's never happened before," Dawn clarified. She nudged his arm with her shoulder. "What were you going to ask?"

Sam frowned. "I can't remember…"

Her fingers laced into his again, giving him a comforting squeeze, and she pulled him back down the hallway, into a room. She stopped inside, puzzled, and Sam could see why. Instead of the teenage-girl-decorated space he was expecting, the room was without walls, an all encompassing white accept for a bed a few feet away. It had the makings of a canopy, sheer strips of red cloth hanging down as parted curtains, the bedspread and pillows the same deep shade.

"Could you get more obvious, brain?" Dawn muttered, blushing.

Sam heard her and laughed. "Okay, why do I get the feeling you were expecting this place to look a little different?"

"I—uh—I…" A chuckle burst out of her, and she cupped her mouth with one hand, stifling it. "I swear to God I wasn't planning on taking advantage of you. Watch as I smoothly attempt to change subjects—so, you can see my dreams. Can I see yours?"

Sam shook his head, unable to lose his grin. "Just as smooth as promised." He took a breath, considering the question. "Truthfully? I'm not sure I have dreams, per say. I don't think I'm asleep right now, just..."

"Out of body—err, orb?"

"In every sense." He turned his back on the bed, staring into the white. "But, maybe, if I try, I can…" His voice drifted off as his concentration intensified. He could see a form in the distance. It was blurry, the shape, curving and dark. A road.

"I can see it, too," Dawn assured.

Sam felt breathless at the effort, but he continued, trying to give it detail. A black, square body lengthened, grew wheels. It was as familiar a sight as the back of his eyelids, the old Impala, and he smiled, happy to see it again. Sam could feel his body trembling, but he pressed on. The image wasn't complete yet. Greenery sprouted behind the roadway, gravel beneath the car—it was in a pull-off, parked, the shade a nonexistent tree cast began to mold into a man's body.

The rugged jacket formed, taking on color, the shape of the face above sharpening into a jawline, a nose. Eyes. What was in one instant a blur, became his brother. Dean stared out at the dreamscape, looking pale and tired. The way he'd looked for far too long. Sam felt his heart pounding through his body, shaking him.

His knees gave out, and, just as quickly as home had appeared, it was gone again.

Sam blinked up, confused that he was sprawled out on the floor between the front door and the staircase instead of in the white bedroom. Dawn was on the floor beside him, cradling his upper body with one arm, her other hand clenched onto his shirt and white knuckled.

Her breaths were rapid, panicked. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded, lost for words. "Maybe I shouldn't try that again."

She nodded along with him. "I think you almost woke up or disconnected or whatever." Dawn chewed her bottom lip. "So, that guy…that was your brother, Dean, wasn't it?"

Sam gained control of himself and sat up, leaving her arm to slide with him. He could feel the tips of her fingers in his hair, gently brushing it off his neck. The movement was meant to comfort, but Sam felt pinpricks of heat at the corners of his eyes. Seeing his brother again…God, it was almost worse than not seeing him at all. He knew it was all his own imagination, the image drawn from his memory, but it felt real, like nightmares so often do.

"Look at me, Sam."

Sam obeyed the order without a second thought. Dawn's eyes were bright. Wet. Her stare intense. "I promise you, Sam. I'm going to find a way to get you back to him."

There was more to the promise, an unspoken ' _if it's the last thing I do_ ,' and Sam hated it. Hated putting her in danger. Because, he knew the truth—the danger was implied if you helped a Winchester.

"Dawn…"

She leaned closer, her long hair sweeping against his chest. "Don't bother arguing with me, Sam Winchester. You'll never win."

Sam opened his mouth to do just that and found her lips pressed against his. He breathed her in, deepening the kiss, and reaching around her to hold his palm to the small of her back, push her onto him. She moaned when his tongue slipped against hers, and the sound was a fever breaking at his skin. It dripped down, pooling deep in his stomach as latent _want_.

He pulled away long enough to catch a breath, tighten his grasp on her body. "Been thinking about this for a while now," he confided.

The confession was lost to a bright burst of light.

He felt the world being ripped out from around him, leaving him grasping for something, anything, to hold on to. But all he found was nothingness. When he could see again, it was through a curved lens, and he was staring at Dawn's faintly green-glowing profile. The alarm clock blared "Find Your Way Back" mid-chorus— _goddamned cock-blockin' Jefferson Starship_ , his inner-Dean sympathized—from her bedside table, and she gave the radio a look of loathing that could have melted butter.

"Son. Of. A bitch," she hissed.

' _My sentiments exactly_.'

* * *

Dawn knew she should have been mortified by the whole experience, but she couldn't quite get past pissed-at-the-damn-universe. "So, yeah, that dream happened."

Sam's silence groan confirmed it. His frustration would have been obvious by his almost ruddy glow, even if she hadn't felt it confirmed. Dawn couldn't deny that she was rather pleased to hear he was just as upset with the interruption as she was. It meant…well, it meant the kiss wasn't some my-dream-my-fantasy-my-rules fluke.

_'Can't your sister slay your alarm clock?'_

"Are you kidding? It's probably a plant of hers. Some sort of chastity ward that goes off any time I'm about to make with the happy." Dawn pouted and rolled off of the bed.

Sam chuckled. ' _Wait…are you a—?'_

The laughter burst out of Dawn before he could manage to finish the question. "Oh, Buffy probably thinks so. What she doesn't know about that trip to Brazil can't hurt her."

A loud knock stopped her from going on. It wasn't coming from her bedroom door, but the apartment's front door, and she could hear familiar footsteps moving to open it. Xander. She knew exactly who he was probably letting into the apartment, too.

"Speak of the Slayer, and she's already at your elbow." Dawn sighed. She gave the orb a dramatic frown. "This isn't going to be pretty," she warned.

_'What's going on?'_

"If I had to guess? Xander told Buffy. And, since she's already arrived—and probably didn't break out the teleportation—I'm guessing she was already on her way anyhow. Which means Xander only stopped in to soften me up before her arrival."

_'Maybe it's not her. Xander might have ordered Chinese.'_

"For breakfast? You know, for a guy who went to Hell, you're pretty optimistic." Dawn slipped on a pair of long pajama pants, not wanting to get caught in a t-shirt and underwear combo in front of her friends, and reached out, rolling Sam onto her palm. "Okay—better go ahead and face the music."

' _Dawn, if they take me—_ '

Dawn shook her head. "No one is taking you anywhere, Sam," she said. "A Summers' girl doesn't break her promises."

When she opened the door, she suddenly wished there was some sort of universal time-out that could be called, because she seriously needed some coffee before this went down. On the one hand, she had been right. Buffy was there, sitting at her small breakfast table with Xander. But Dawn hadn't planned for the extra back-up. Giles was standing behind the pair, leaning against the wall, cleaning his glasses.

Never a good sign. Never.

Buffy looked up, not at all surprised to see her sister awake, and tried to force a tight smile. "Good morning, Dawnie."

"Well, it is morning," Dawn admitted. "Dunno about the good part yet. This has to be the first glowing-ball intervention anyone has held. Like, ever."

"Oh, this is going well," Xander mumbled, twisting the cap off a small bottle of orange juice. Dawn swooped in, snatching the bottle from him, and hopped onto her counter to take a seat.

"Nope, you don't get free food if you sell me out, Xander Harris," she said, in a sing-song tone and took a gulp of OJ. She sighed at the wide-eyed expression on his face. "Don't give me that look. I know you told."

"I—yeah," he admitted, but then stood, arms raised in surrender. "But, Dawn, you _named_ it, okay, and—"

Dawn rolled her eyes. "I didn't name him. He already had a name. You just didn't know it."

"Speaking of which…" Buffy's interruption made her wince. Her sister looked non-too pleased by the information. "When were you planning to mention that you and Sam have been having heart to hearts? Because, from what Xander said, it sounds like you've been able to talk to him since he arrived. Why didn't you tell Willow that when she was trying to communicate with him? Dawnie, why didn't you tell _me_?"

These things always came back to bite her in the ass.

Dawn waited, hoping Sam would pitch in with a few words of wisdom, but he remained silent. Mainly because, while he knew her answer, he didn't fully agree with it. Darn him. She stared down at her plaid PJs a moment before looking back up.

Buffy was pissed. It was written across her face in big bold Sharpie letters. But beneath that, she was worried. Really worried. And, Dawn hated that she was the cause.

"Because of _why_ I could hear him, Buffy. And why you and Willow couldn't."

Giles stepped in, breaking from his eerily quiet corner of the room. "And why do you think that is, Dawn?" he asked, softly.

Here it was, the part she'd been holding out from Xander. _'It's okay, Dawn. You've got to bring it up eventually. They're your family.'_ She gave the orb a crooked smile, her fingers still tight around it, and took a breath.

"Sam's from another dimension." Dawn waited for a reaction, but the three stayed frozen in place, staring at her as if she'd grown another head. "Well, my theory is, I can hear him because I'm tied to dimensions other than just our own. Because I'm a Key."

"He knows you're the Key?" Buffy asked, her voice nearly at a whisper.

Dawn swallowed. "Has for a while now. Apparently, he sees me through a green lens, so it's hard not to notice. I'm guessing that has to do with him being out of his head. Literally."

Dawn really wished she had a butter knife. She was fairly certain she could have cut the thick air between herself and her sister with it. Surprisingly, though, the slayer stayed in place instead of jumping up to wring her sister's neck. Still, the utter stillness of the room was scary in and of itself, and Dawn wished she'd had the foresight to hide Sam somewhere beforehand. If Buffy decided to take him and slam him against a wall, Dawn knew she could do it. Then Sam would be stuck floating through the void of this dimension again. Lost.

Sam must have felt her tension. ' _Dawn, they're just afraid for you.'_

"Yeah, I know," she muttered.

"You're talking to him right now." Giles said it without question. There was a sharp glint to the man's eyes, despite the calm in his voice. Dawn knew he was the one to watch out for. Giles always had been the type to do whatever it took, even if it ended up breaking hearts. "Ask him what it is he wants. Why he came to you."

Dawn raised a brow. "Uh, he can hear you just fine, and I already know the answers to those questions. He wants to get back into to his body. Which is back in his home dimension, he hopes. And he didn't come to me… The orb pulled him in when he passed by. Someone summoned him from the afterlife, from this end, obviously, but, before you ask, he has no clue who did it."

Giles and Buffy shared a glance, and Xander stood up, staring down at the orb. "Okay, so from a different dimension. But still human?"

"Willow confirmed it was a human soul," Buffy answered. As if hers was the more trusted reply.

Dawn rolled her eyes at that. "Yeah. Sam was actually a demon hunter in his dimension. Which, by the way, basically like ours in most ways, but the monster rule book is a bit different. Their demons are mostly of the Exorcism variety, and they call their other monsters…well, monsters."

"Sounds like you know a lot about him." Buffy didn't sound any more comforted by the acknowledgement. "What am I saying, of course you do? You've spent two months with him chatting into your ear. Dawn, has it occurred to you that you have absolutely no reason to trust a word he says to you?"

"I get that." Dawn shook her head. "But I do trust him, Buffy. And, even if he was lying—why? What's he going to do? He's stuck in an orb?"

' _Thanks for the reminder. Way to make a guy feel impotent._ '

"Sorry, Sam," she noted, before going on. "Buffy, for once, you're just going to have to trust me on this."

Buffy stared at her a long moment before opening her mouth. "Dawnie, when it comes to you… I want to trust your instincts, I do, but do you even realize how much you're asking?"

Giles let a hand rest on the slayer's shoulder and stepped past her. "I think the solution is fairly simple. It would be in everyone's best interests, including Sam's, for us to take the orb." He raised a hand to cut Dawn off. "Not permanently—I simply think more progress could be made if we had other experts try to communicate with Sam. The Council used to employ various psychics and spiritual advisers, and I'm sure I can contact a few of them. If there's a way Sam can be sent back to where he came from, we'll find it."

' _Do you think he might know someone who could help? Dawn?_ '

But she ignored Sam, staring ahead instead.

Giles smiled. "I knew you'd see reason," he said, and reached out, as if to lift the orb out of her hands, but Dawn pulled away, jumping down from the counter.

Dawn grinned up at him, nodding along as she side-stepped back out into the main room. "That does sound like a good plan. Solid. But for a couple small problems."

"Dawn, I don't—"

Buffy interrupted Giles, standing up beside him. "You're kind of pulling a full-on Ginny Weasley here. I don't know what soul-guy is telling you, but Giles' plan is a good one."

Dawn cocked her head, smirking at Xander, who already looked defeated—he, at least, seemed to know her enough to see that this tactic wasn't working. "Actually, Sam even thinks it's a good plan, too. Because he trusts my family to have my best interest at heart and to not flat out lie to me. But, he doesn't know you well enough, does he?"

"Lie to you?" Buffy groaned, shaking her head. "About what?"

"Oh, sure, you're going to take Sam to go see psychics and the coven and dimensional researchers and spiritual advisers—all because you care so much about helping one guy out." Dawn smirked. "Uh—yeah, I might only be a few human years old, but I wasn't born yesterday. Sam knows I'm the Key. As soon as I told you that—oh, by the way, Sam, see why we don't always make with the honest habits in this family?—as soon as I said that, you'd already decided to lock him up in a box and throw him in the ocean. I know you guys. You'd never put me in danger by letting a soul who knows my secrets chat it up with some unknown but helpful Council contacts."

Giles' face fell. "Dawn, it's not that we want to do him harm, it's just—"

"It's just you'd rather keep me safe than help him out," Dawn completed, and closed her eyes, wishing she could block them out. "I love you, guys. All of you. Even when you absolutely refuse to trust me. But, I want you out."

Xander gaped. "What?"

"Out," Dawn repeated. "You can stay in town if you want, but you're going to have to get a hotel room. I don't want you in this apartment right now. I need to clear my head and think…And I don't need to worry about you guys trying to steal my best friend."

Dawn plopped down onto her couch and waited, silently, for them to gather their things. They went, mostly without argument. When the front door finally closed, Dawn dropped her tired façade and jumped up to lock the door.

"Okay, that's going to buy us maybe a few hours before they all realize they're the ones paying my rent and come storming back in with fresh arguments," Dawn rattled. She was already moving to her room, Sam in tow. She dropped him to the bed and began tossing together a small get-away bag. "I wouldn't put it past them to give Willow a phone call and have her magic you away."

_'You called me your best friend._ '

"Don't let it go to your head," she snapped, but smiled, nevertheless. "I have dream make-out sessions with all my bffs. Hey, maybe you'll even get to see a few of them, if you keep peaking every night." Dawn paused, noting the coral tone of his glow. It was the color between his pink excitement and his neutral gold hue, and her grin widened. She wondered if he was this easy to tease in physical form.

_'Tell me we have time for a nap before your family sends me to orb prison.'_

"Now that I have you in a good mood—I have a plan," she declared, and promptly made a sour face. "And you're not going to like it."

_'At least you're warning me. What's the plan?'_

"Well, it's not really a fix, unfortunately. It would be a temporary way to insure you're a little less…odd. And more helpful. If we're on the lam, I think you'll blend in better in human form."

' _Uh—one problem, which happens to be THE problem. My body isn't here. What are you suggesting?'_

"It sorta dances on that fine gray line, but…I know a guy." She slipped into her jeans, pulled her hair up with an elastic, and turned around to face the orb. "A guy with demon connections—not your kind of demon, our kind of demon—and I'm pretty sure if I drop a few hundred bucks on his barstool, he'll give me the name of a necromancer. I've earned some money with my translations, and Buffy gives me an allowance, so I've got the cash in my savings to pay for a…a basic model."

_'Wait—go back to the part where there's a necromancer involved. You're talking about…Jesus, Dawn, you can't just shove me into a body!'_

"Sam, don't be a pain about this—it's a moral gray area, I know, but it's a viable option." She dipped into the bathroom, snatching up her toothbrush and essentials, and tossing them into her bag.

_'No. It's not. I'm not getting shoved into someone else's body like a damn demon._ '

"Yes, you are," Dawn snapped. "Now, I know this necromancer doesn't use living bodies, and he doesn't kill to get the bodies. Which is the only reason he hasn't been, you know, slayed. But he does give demons fresh forms, so I'm pretty sure he can be bullied into helping, if I drop Buffy's name. I don't want to do this, but…Sam, I promised to help you, and I will. But I can't do that if you're taken away."

' _Running isn't the answer. I'm not worth this, Dawn.'_

"It is. You are." She tossed her bag over her shoulder. "We're not having this discussion any more. I'm leaving. With you. Now, I'd prefer that, when I'm out there, I have a human-shaped Sam at my back if I get into trouble, but if you won't listen, then I suppose I can just whack the bad guys over the head with your blunt crystal ass."

Sam went silent a moment. _'Fine. We'll try it. First sign of problems, we get back to your sister, though. And you'll probably want to borrow a different car if we're going to make it very far._ '

She smiled. "Told you never to argue with me, Sam Winchester. I always win."

' _…And please tell me you're bringing some actual weapons.'_

"Never leave home without them."

* * *

Joey the Drooler—so named because of the absent jaw-line he'd inherited from his human father and the abundant (and somewhat valuable) blue drool he'd inherited from his Groolu demon mother, God rest her—liked his peace, which is why, when The Slayer had come to his bar in the past, he'd always folded to her whim and forked over the necessary information. Even earned himself a little help from her Watcher sister once when a pissy warlock had tried to curse a shipment of his favorite kegs. But, when Dawn Summers strolled past his doors, took in his lack of before-noon drunkards at the counter, and made her request, Joey realized there was one thing he liked more than peace: money.

Joey wasn't sure where it had started, or who was putting up the cash, but word had been passed around to all the known "informants" throughout the state. Someone comes in with a full Orb of Thesulah, make a phone call, earn a big reward. Easy.

Joey's fingers trembled over the cell phone, the small slip of paper in his hands soaked through with sweat. When the other line was answered, no voice greeted him, but he could hear the soft breathing of a listener on the other side.

"Joey MacMahannon, the, uh, owner of the The Pink Viper in, uh, Sacramento…I maybe got what you're looking for. Do ya…I mean, you need my address or—?"

" _Keep her there_ ," a voice growled.

"Okay. I'm gonna get paid in cash for this right? No checks." Joey licked the drool off his bottom lip, his brow wrinkled when he realized he'd never said it was a 'her' who had the orb. "Hello?"

There was a short click, the only acknowledgement that the phone call had ended, and Joey slid the cell shut and pocketed it with the number. He wiped his sweaty palms off on his jeans and shook his head, trying to get rid of any signs of nervousness on his face. The smile he planted was wide, promising success, and he put a skip to his step as he walked out of the storage area.

"Your lucky day, Kid. I found Reno's number one corpse dealer's number in the back, and—" His voice trailed off when his eyes lifted.

Dawn stood, feet spread in a wide stance and crossbow leveled at his head. "Who were you on the phone with, Joey?" She hissed out his name like it was a lemon peel.

A fresh layer of drool and sweat dripped off of him. "I don't know what—"

"You're right, Sam. No one takes you seriously unless you spill blood." Her finger tightened on the trigger, and Joey backtracked.

"I don't know who they are, kid." A splatter of blue gunk coated his shoes. "But if they're offering money that big, my guess is they can move fast. Probably no time for you to make any life and death decisions or nothin'."

She squinted at him, reading his expression, before swearing under her breath. "He doesn't know," she said.

Joey didn't know who she was talking to. "I'd run, if I were you."

"Joey." Dawn's tight face managed a small smile. "You just pissed off the Slayer Organization. I suggest you leave the country. Like, now."

Despite her words, she was out the front door in a split second, her bag slapping against her back.

"Oh, hell." Joey sucked in a mouthful of saliva, and the threat hit him in the stomach. "I really hope they pay me in cash."


	6. Never Ever Land

The shit had hit the fan decidedly faster than she'd expected, and she hadn't even made it to the necromancer's.

Dawn tried to keep herself calm, collected, as she slipped out onto the sidewalk. It wasn't a particularly busy part of Sacramento, even midday, but she'd parked a couple blocks down to keep some space between herself and the pub. It was a smart move, in theory.

She slowed to a stop, trying to keep her eye off the back of the car she'd borrowed from Professor Pool. Maybe borrowed wasn't the right word. The poor professor had the cheapest, oldest, and easiest to break in to Buick, and he'd parked in front of the coffee shop closest to Dawn's apartment. Misfortune on his end.

Sam was way too helpful when it came to stealing cars. She was going to have to have a serious conversation with his brother about their criminal activities if she ever met this famed Dean Winchester.

"Crap," she muttered, pretending to dig into her purse for some lost item. Sam was glowing up at her. "Problem," she whispered.

' _Joey following you?_ '

"No, up ahead. There's something hiding around the corner where we parked. I just caught a glimpse…a shift in the shadows, but still."

_'Don't chance it. Jay walk. Now.'_

Dawn took a slow jog across the street, behind a bus that was easing to a stop light, and started down the opposite direction. She kept the flap over Sam but lifted him up so that a small sliver of light escaped out of either side of the purse.

"You see anything?" she asked, under her breath.

_'Something moved behind the car…'_

"Bigger than a bread box?"

_'How could they know where we are? Who did Joey call? Couldn't have been your sister yet, right? And—oh. Oh, boy. No, that's definitely not your sister. Dawn—run. Run!'_

Dawn wanted to argue that no self-respecting demon would go out mid-day in a crowded city and chase her down. She wanted to. Instead, she took off, sneakers slapping pavement, and ran around a corner, making a block past a salon and a pawn shop. If her pursuer was this bold, she doubted it would be a good idea to lead him into a public shop. Instead she caught sight of an empty lot, unfenced, and dove across a street toward it.

_'I don't see him—he's fast. Like dart from one alleyway to the next, fast.'_

"Oh, yay for him," Dawn huffed, and slid to a stop behind a building, her back pressed against cool brick. Her breathing was too loud, and she tried to control it. She let Sam drop against the scarf in her bag and pulled her phone out from beside him.

She'd turned it off completely before making her run for it, but she could already predict the number of messages awaiting her. Buffy was almost two and half hours away, probably cussing a blue streak that all of Palo Alto could hear if she'd already discovered that her sister was missing, but calling for back-up was the only option. Dawn's racing heart rattled her chest as she waited the few necessary seconds for the phone to load up. Not enough time.

' _Dawn, do you hear something?_ '

Besides her own heartbeat? Dawn's eyes widened. Now that he mentioned it, she could hear a faint sound coming from inside the building beside the lot. It sounded like a chant, low, rumbling. She'd almost brush it off as some psychedelic rock playing on an oldies radio station if there'd been even a hint of music to it. No, it sounded like one person. And the words—was that a spell?

Dawn didn't have time to consider it. A shadow fell over her. From above.

She jumped away from the building with a cry, just in time for the creature above to land on her back. The blow sent her purse flying in one direction, her cell phone in the other, and knocked the air out of her lungs. She gasped for breath, a fish out of water, then wished she hadn't when the ribs against the graveled lot announced that they were indeed bruised.

A ripping sound from behind stirred her from her haze—whatever had landed had claws that were apparently stuck in the go-bag at her back. She was suddenly happy she'd had the foresight not to leave her stuff in the stolen car.

_'Dawn, watch out!'_

She rolled out from under the creature, just as it freed one paw and scraped its talons through the ground. Pushed up onto her elbows, she got a decent look at the demon. It was clothed like a human, probably easy to mistake for one late at night with its long black jacket to cover the three seven-inch nails curving out from its deformed hands. The monster's face was piggish, snouted, with long tusks growing from the jaundice skin of its joules and digging into its fat cheeks. Dark, beady eyes stared out at her in rage.

"You come with me," it growled.

"Hope that's not your only pick-up line."

Dawn hoped her sister would be pleased with her choice in final words. She threw herself back, barely out of swiping range. The monster would be back on its feet before her, and—her gaze drifted to her purse, where Sam had rolled out and the creature noticed. It laughed.

"Soul, too," he assured, in that same rumbling voice.

_'Dawn, get out of here!'_ Sam snapped. _'Leave me!'_

Dawn realized the painful lump digging into her elbow was the cell phone, thrown in the hit. She pressed a number, dialing her sister, out of habit, and scrambled to her feet. Running was always a good plan, sure, but her weapons were in her purse, right by Sam, and she wasn't leaving without either. Pig monster or no pig monster.

The creature took advantage of her hesitation and lunged. She dove beneath his arm, but the move wasn't quick enough. His talon clipped her shoulder, and she cried out when the nail yanked free again, taking half her jacket with it. A warm stream of wetness slid down her shoulder, through her sleeve, but she didn't stop to get a look at the wound. Instead, she took advantage of the creature's confusion at the miss.

_"Dawn, is that you?"_ She barely registered that the voice was coming from the phone she'd just dropped and definitely wasn't Sam's.

"Buffy, someone's after me!" she cried, but couldn't make a move for the phone. "Joey the Drooler—"

" _Dawn, just hold on. Help's on the way."_

The frustrated creature's massive boot had stomped on the plastic cover, silencing her sister's voice.

Dawn let herself fall to the ground and rolled over, snatching her purse, and Sam, with one sweep of her good arm. But, the monster had finally yanked free the fo-leather strip trapping his appendage. He growled, hunched forward and ready to charge. Dawn could see it in her mind, how easy it would have been for her sister, or any other slayer, to hop to their feet, make a quick dodge, and be out of danger in seconds. But, as well-trained as she was, Dawn wasn't a slayer.

She braced, ready to take the hit, and curled in on herself, her eyes open just enough to see that the orb's bright glow was marred by rolling tears of red, her blood, dripping down from her wound and onto the crystal surface.

_'What's happening? Are you doing this?'_

"I don't know. It's not supposed to happen like this…"

Dawn's eyes widened, her thumb sweeping at the slick stain, but the heat off the orb was growing in intensity, flushing her wind-chilled face faster than the adrenaline pumping through her body. White light blinded her. The sound of the pig-monster's growling faded away. Then, the world faded with it.

* * *

Hell.

It was the first thought Sam Winchester had upon…waking? He wasn't sure what had happened, but it felt as if a vortex had opened up beneath him, sucking him under the skin of the world. Twisting, pulling, then, nothingness. Landing had felt like having the wind knocked out of his body, if he'd had a body. He didn't. No, he was still staring out at the world through curved glass, without eyes. Hearing, without ears. Speaking, without a mouth.

That shouldn't have comforted him, but it did. If he were in Hell, he was fairly certain Lucifer would have already molded his soul into a shape that was more fun to torture. Crystal balls simply weren't meant for Satan's favorite past-times.

No, the world was dark, not because he was Down Under, but because it was nighttime. Awareness crept over him, and he took in the pale moonlight casting down from above, the looming black-on-black shadow of a close, barren tree, thick blades of grass blocking most of his surrounding view from sight.

Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to be alone.

_'Dawn!'_

There were noises in the distance, some sort of ruckus. A fight, but it sounded too far away. Dawn had been right over him when… And then it struck him. That feeling of twisting and turning and nothingness—that was what he felt when he was pulled from Hell. Which could mean only one thing. He'd traveled across dimensions. Again.

He couldn't be sure, of course. A feeling was just a feeling. But, still, something inside told him he was back where he belonged. He felt…stronger. More himself.

"Sam?"

Dawn's face appeared above him. Her eyes were glazed, her face paler than usual. And he figured some of the green he was seeing was caused by nausea and not her energy.

"Can we not do that again?" she said, in a breathless voice, and scooped him up.

She was still sitting in the grass, her knees muddy where she must have landed, purse strap wrapped around her wrist, the weight of the other bag the only thing keeping her spine straight. Blood streamed down her fingertips, dark and glistening in the night, and Sam could see where her jacket had been ripped off, the cloth of her sweater torn. She'd need help, and soon.

_'You've got to get up, Dawn. You can't afford to get stranded while you're bleeding that heavily.'_

Dawn blinked at him, confused, then looked over her shoulder, at the deep cut. "Oh." She was still dazed, and she shook her head to clear out the cobwebs. "Where's…Sacramento?"

' _I don't think we're in Kansas anymore,_ ' Sam commented, then had to stop himself from laughing like a madman, because this could actually be Kansas, his Kansas.

While it was by no means bright out, he could see that they were close to a large barn and concrete silo. Further off, yellow light streamed out of an old two-level house's covered windows. The sounds he'd noticed earlier must have come from the house, but he couldn't hear it anymore. This could have been any farm place in any state in the Continental. Sam had been to a number of properties just like it, but he didn't recognize anything about this one.

"Oh my God…" Dawn's eyes widened. Something must have clicked for her. "Sam, are we still in my dimension?"

_'Uh. No? At least, I don't think so.'_ He wanted to say more, promise her that she'd be fine, and home before fourth-meal, but he was too busy staring at the blood soaking through her sweater. _'You're injured, Dawn. We need to move. Stand up. Keep your voice down.'_

"Shouldn't we be going toward the house?" Nevertheless, the question came out as a whisper. She stood at a crouch, keeping low to the ground. "Isn't that part of getting help?"

Sam had already considered that one. When he left the world…well, he hadn't left it in the best shape. For all he knew, the dimension was still suffering fallout from the would-be Apocalypse. Better not to trust the locals. _'Good idea. Your luck's been great so far today. I'm sure it'll turn out that we crash landed at a farm owned by the Kent family. Let's go see if they have a phone.'_

Dawn relented. "Point made, bubble boy. There's no reason to be a smartass. Or make _Smallville_ references—ever."

_'I just don't want to take any chances.'_

Sam hoped she could read between the lines. She must have, because she gave him a crooked, if pained, smile. "Thanks."

_'Let's go to the front of the barn, see if we can spot a vehicle at the house. Someone's definitely home.'_

"So, we steal another car?"

' _Right out of the John Winchester Parenting Manual. We get on the road, and we can call Bobby's place. I…'_

Sam had forgotten. For a split second, he'd forgotten. Bobby was dead. Yeah, he'd seen Castiel in Hell, but not in Jimmy Novak's form—Jimmy's body had been painting the grass, thanks to him. The past few months, spent with Dawn, he'd been so focused on getting back to all that remained, or all that he hoped remained, of his life: Dean. He hadn't given himself a chance to really grieve the losses he already knew he'd suffered, to really think about how taking the leap into Hell a few minutes earlier would have saved lives.

He pushed it all down. Later. Dawn needed him now.

' _I meant, Dean. We'll call Dean's old numbers. See if we catch a break.'_

"Dean's alive," Dawn said, so softly it was almost lost.

Sam took the reassurance. He'd rather lie to himself at this point. ' _We'll find him or someone else. Some hunters. If not, I'll have you set up a summoning for Castiel. Maybe he's taken on another vessel. We'll find help. Just not here._ '

Dawn stopped in the shadow of the building. She didn't have to voice why. Sam had heard it too, the unmistakable sound of a footfall. There was no way they could stay hidden with him glowing like a giant firefly. _'The barn?'_

Dawn nodded and pushed her way past the ajar back door. They were already inside by the time they realized his light wasn't the only one shining in the dark. The faint fire of an oil lamp lit up the far corner of the barn, and in it, Sam spotted a figure hunched forward over a body.

' _We need to go.'_

Dawn took the advice without another word, but the door behind her wasn't so kind. It let out a sharp squeal before she could step past it. The hunched figure stood quickly, glancing over its shoulder at the intruders. Its face was male, Caucasian, middle-aged, and could have belonged to any clerk, farmer, or factory worker, if it weren't for the blood smeared down its chin, over its cheeks. Even in the distance, the creature was a direct duplicate of the half-eaten corpse at its feet.

' _Crap. It's got to be a ghoul._ _Go for the head, Dawn!'_ '

Dawn didn't bother with the small weapons in her purse. She made a move for the pitchfork hanging to her right, and the ghoul made the same shuttered movement, as if mocking her. Every inch she took, he took. Sam could see it in the creature's eyes. It was having fun, waiting for just the right moment to leap forward.

"You're pretty," it said. A genuine compliment. "And fresh."

"I haven't had a bath all day, buddy. I somehow doubt I'm very fresh at the moment."

Stalling wasn't going to help. Sam saw the opening, though. _'Now!'_

Only, as soon as her hands wrapped around the wooden handle, the ghoul's head exploded out in a red spray, the thunder of the gunshot echoing off the barn walls. Dawn froze in place, her breath panicked, quickened by the sound and the splatter of gore.

Standing at the now open front doors of the barn was the looming shape of a tall man, the lamp light glistening off of his shotgun. He took a step inside, the twelve gauge leveled on Dawn. Sam couldn't process his expression for a moment. It was one he'd never seen, no matter how many times he'd looked in the mirror.

The man was Sam Winchester, his eyes bright with excitement, and a cold, professional smile at his lips. "Guess I counted wrong," he stated, as if commenting on the weather. "One and done," he added.

Dawn stared at him, utterly confused by the weapon trained on her. "But I…"

Sam wasn't confused though, not anymore. The man was him, sure. _Sans_ soul. And that grin was not a good thing.

' _Dawn, run. Now.'_

* * *

Sam Winchester was one scary mofo. Dawn hadn't really considered this when she'd seen Dream-Sam. He'd been huge, sure. Broad shouldered, most definitely. But, what had been hot about his form then was suddenly terrifying.

Sammy-no-soul was hard muscled, armed, and deadly. He had years, weight, and height on her. And, all Dawn had was a two second head start.

She didn't need to be told to haul ass, but the soul in her hand was spouting out a steady stream of encouragement as she threw herself past the barn's back doors, feeling the air off a blast in the wood beside her head. Splinters clung to her hair as she ducked, her feet keeping their speed as she rounded the side of the building.

_'We need to get to the house, Dawn! See if the car's here. We need to—'_

Dawn rolled her eyes—sure, now he wanted to go to the house instead of the ghoul-infested barn. Great.

"Come out—I just want to talk..."

The words were so familiar, so faint, her first instinct was to glance down at the orb, but she realized a split second later it was his body talking, trying to force her into a panic. Well, too damn late. Summers girls weren't that easy to catch.

"Fine." Sam's sigh was familiar, but there was a cold uncaring to it that was entirely alien. His voice was coming from the yard behind the barn. "Come out, and I promise I'll make this fast."

Instead of increasing her speed, she slowed down at the shadow of the silo, slipping beside the massive, standing cylinder in hopes that Soulless-Sam and Soulful-Sam would be of a like mind, believing she would head toward the house. But, the hunter at her tail had slowed down as well. She could hear him, his heavy boots softly crunching gravel and grass as he checked out the side of the barn.

' _Dawn. I need you to listen to me, okay. I need you pull out your knife._ '

She winced, knowing what he was about to tell her to do, and without another thought, she shook her head in refusal.

' _You're going to have to hurt me, Dawn. You might even have to_ —'

He was right. She knew he was right. Dawn glanced down at the entry to the grain feed, seeing the tools left propped against its base. Without hesitation, she reached out for the closest. Then she heard it: the bootsteps had stopped right beside the silo.

* * *

There were supposed to be four ghouls. A family. Dean had insisted on the stake-out to make sure there were just the four, to Sam's chagrin—Jesus, it wasn't like it was anything _hard_ they were hunting. But Sam had went along with his so-called "brother," just to get him to shut up.

It was getting tiresome, really. Listening to Dean go on and on about souls and how damned important they were… Sam wasn't sure exactly how he was supposed to feel about that, but the truth was, he didn't feel anything about it. He should, probably, have been offended by the number of times the other hunter, and his pet angel, had referred him as if he were something less than human. But he wasn't, not really.

If being less than human, more of an animal, meant being a better hunter, then so be it. At least until he had his soul back to slow him down.

Dread stirred in his stomach. Sam wasn't sure about Dean's reasoning for pulling it from the Pit, which was why it had been more than easy to ignore the leprechaun's offer to find that missing piece for him during their last hunt.

Not that Sam was going to tell Dean that just yet. While he was still hunting with the whiny bag of bones, he knew to keep his mouth shut. Play pretend, just like he'd been doing for so long.

The problem with Dean though…The real problem with Dean was that he didn't seem to get any thrill out of the hunt anymore. Sam's smile widened, and he lifted the rifle higher. Like now, for instance. A boring hunt that Dean had boringly halved with him ( _"I take the two inside the house, you get the two circling outside—don't friggin' argue with me.")_ had suddenly become a little more entertaining.

"Come out, come out, where ever you are," he called.

Sam had taken care of the first ghoul with a machete, keeping quiet for the main event. And, when he'd raised his gun on the second one, inside the barn, he'd been disappointed at how quickly he'd finished up. Then he'd spotted her, the girl standing dumbfounded at the back of the barn, blood covering half her torso, a round light of some sort in her hand.

She was cute, too. A perfect waste of a nice ass. He had to commend her taste in last meals.

And she'd run.

Now, Sam couldn't say it gave him pleasure to have to chase her, but it did give him a certain satisfaction, putting some effort into the hunt.

He spotted the faint glow from behind the silo and had to stifle another sigh. So much for effort. Sam considered calling out again, making her jump out of her dead skin, but he knew Dean was likely already cleaning up his half of the hunt. Time to cut the game short.

Sam rounded the silo quickly, rifle taking aim—and found a bag, a full satchel with a glowing crystal ball sitting beside it. A distraction.

As soon as it sunk in, Sam twisted around, eyes wide.

"Sorry, Sam."

He took the butt of the shovel to his head and collapsed to the ground, the rifle sliding from his grasp. The ghoul girl swung again, the bong of the metal against his skull still ringing in his ears from the first blow. He couldn't block the second. A second later, his vision grayed, and he fell to his elbows, then face first into spilled grain, too dazed to move.


	7. No Good Deed

Dawn was in a different dimension.

No big sister to save her. No friendly witch to solve her magical mishaps. No Xander to listen to her problems. No school. No home.

Dawn was in a different dimension.

She swallowed that knowledge down, keeping herself busy, and pretending that her mind wasn't brim-full of questions. Like, how the hell had she traveled to another dimension in the first place? Wasn't Glory deal supposed to be for a certain time and place, after all? And her blood was still flowing, definitely still flowing, and yet the portal had closed up behind them, as if it had been meant just for her. And Sam.

' _Dawn, are you okay?'_

She ignored him; mainly, because he already knew the answer was a big freakin' no.

Dawn knew she'd opened the door in the Never. Knew it. But someone else had set this trip up. The chanting she'd heard when the pig monster attacked… It had to have something to—

A groan broke her from her thoughts, and Dawn pushed back her fear, getting to work.

Her overnight bag lay gutted, the clothing she'd packed in a damp heap in the grass from when she'd quickly pulled out her meager supplies. She didn't have half of what she needed, and really, really hoped most of it was more precaution than necessity. She sat the runic stones at the four corners, hitting North, East, West, South, in place of the candles—Willow would have a fit if she caught her half-assing a spell this powerful, but the witch had been the one to teach her which magical principles could be ignored in a pinch. And the fire wasn't needed, not to guide the soul. The soul was already here.

This meager non-incense set-up would be enough. It would have to be. And if it wasn't? Shopping trip it was. They'd get another chance.

' _You can do this.'_

"I've got to try," she replied, at a whisper.

This close to the ground, the earth smelled musty, like hay and fertilizer, but Dawn stayed where she was, perched with the moon to her back, and pushed the body over—the body, because she had a hard damn time calling it Sam. Was this what her sister had felt, looking at Angelus, searching for any sign of the guy she'd come to know? Finding nothing?

A gentle hand caressing the orb cradled against her side, Dawn took a trembling breath. The ache at her shoulder felt deeper, more like a throb than a sting. She wasn't sure if that was a good sign, but she knew she shouldn't be shaking like a leaf, even if she had just rolled over a guy twice her size.

Now that his hands were secured behind his back— _thank you, farmers and your abundant rope scraps_ —she could get down to business. Of course, there were a number of spells that could be used, all of which she'd tried to no avail in her home dimension. But, she had his body now. This should work.

Should.

His eyes flickered open, taking in the location, the small, shadowed stretch of land between the barn and silo, and then catching her immediately. "What are…?" His voice was slurred slightly, but his attention was focused, mostly on the orb in her hands.

It crossed his features, a sense of awareness. Dawn knew the exact moment that he'd figured out what was inside that ball.

"Don't do this," he said, a plea. It became a hiss when he realized she was continuing. "Stop! You don't know what you're doing."

"I'm fixing you," was her only reply

She licked her lips and began, just like she'd practiced with Sam during their research time. It was the end of a basic Restoration Spell, which would, hopefully be all they needed since there was no need to actually summon the soul from the ether.

" _Redă trupului ce separe omul de animal._ "

Return to the body what separates man from animal—that's what this was, wasn't it? This mass of muscle and bone. It was an animal. Vicious. Deadly. Spitting curses at her. She shivered, holding on to the power of her conviction. She could hear, in the back of her mind, the real Sam echoing the chant.

_"Aşa să fie, cu ajutorul acestui magic glob de cristal."_

Dawn held the orb over the man's chest. The heat of its glow intensified, and she winced at the singe of the crystal against her fingertips but held on fast to him. The yellow hue of his soul brightened to hot white, and she closed her eyes against it.

_"Aşa să fie! Aşa să fie!"_

She could feel it on the back of her hands, the air stirring between his skin and the orb. Almost. _Almost there, Sam,_ she promised.

_"Acum! Acum!"_

And, the world stilled. Dawn's ears were ringing, her breathing heavy and loud, but the world was quiet. Sam, body and soul, was quiet.

She was almost afraid to open her eyes, but when she did, she found herself staring at the crystal globe in her hands. It was dull, empty, a blurred mockery of her pale face reflecting on its slick surface. It took her another second to let her eyes drift up to the body's covered torso, to Sam's face.

His eyes were closed, lips parted slightly for his even exhales. A sticky line of red skirted his hairline, where his bangs had fallen back.

"Sam." She cupped his cheek. "Sam, you in there?"

A soft groan pushed its way past his lips, like he was trying to rouse himself, but he stayed down. Dawn grabbed on to his hip and shoulder and pushed him onto his side, tugging at the knot holding his hands together until it gave, freeing him. Then she let him drop down onto his back again.

His brow wrinkled with pain, and he sluggishly raised a hand, pressing it to his temple. "Uh-damn," he muttered. "God."

"Nope, just Dawn," she assured, leaning over him. "Try opening your eyes."

As if on command, his lids raised, showing more brown than green in his gaze.

She couldn't feel him, she realized. Not like before. She didn't know if this was fear or pain or shock on his face. The absence of that constant connection between his soul and hers…it left her numb. But, she forced a smile onto her face.

"Guess you're probably feeling that hit across the head right about now, huh?"

He blinked, lost. "Dawn?"

Even though it had come from his mouth, it looked as if the name was taking another moment to sink in. When it did, he pushed himself up onto his elbows.

"Dawn," he said again, this time with a sigh of relief. "Dawn… The Never?"

This was him. This was the real Sam. All his pieces put back into place. Dawn felt a little shake in her chest, something close to a sob that never quite made it further north. She'd done it. She'd really done it.

His fingertips brushed her knee, as if to make sure she was real, and lingered, finding comfort in the contact.

"So you do remember me?" she breathed. "I was afraid you—"

The clap of the final footstep was an announcement, meant to be heard, and it stirred her from the moment. She looked up, shaken by the sound.

Standing at the corner of the barn, facing her with his back to the moon, was a man, shorter than Sam but solid. And threatening. Mainly because he currently had a shot gun leveled on her, a situation she wasn't yet used to, despite its common occurrence.

"Get off of him, skank!" the man barked in a deep, husky voice.

The voice wasn't the least bit familiar, but she squinted up at him, taking in the shape of his body, the outline of light the moon cast over his jaw and brow.

She snapped back to the moment with a tilt of her head. "Did you seriously just call me a skank?" She huffed. "So not cool, Dean."

He didn't drop the gun, but his head tilted back, as if he'd just been slapped. Dean recovered quickly, not losing a bit of his aggression. "Sorry, _skank._ Met a lot of evil. Can't say that I remember you."

Okay, misogynistic name-calling was going to have to be added to the list of "talks" she was planning to have with this guy. If he didn't shoot and kill her, of course. Dawn frowned at him, but before she could reply, Sam pushed himself up a little further, head turned toward his brother.

"Dean?"

* * *

His head was splitting open. At least, that's what it felt like. No, scratch that, it felt as if it had already been split open and was now being forced back together again. Only the parts didn't quite fit anymore.

But, he knew her. Without a doubt, he knew this girl. Dawn. His Dawn, because something had made her his. Something had… He winced against the sound of two voices, not wanting to look up, see who else was there, complicating his already complicated skull-puzzle.

The memories had passed the floodgates already, but unscrambling them, that was another matter. He tried to pull them apart.

_Hell. The Never. Hunting._

Only some of those things had happened at the same time, hadn't they? And the dates had been different. What seemed like a long time in one memory was a short time in another. Jesus, it was confusing. Made more so by the thought, an echo of a past conversation, about how dimensional travel could lead to time displacement. Something about 2005 being 2010. Something about…

The detritus began to sort itself out into piles, and Sam suddenly put enough of it together to recognize the voices conversing. Dawn and Dean. Dean. His brother. Alive, like one set of memories knew and the other didn't.

Sam stared up at the other man in awe. _Get your shit together, Sammy._ The man hadn't said those words, but Sam could almost hear them in his voice, reminding him that he needed to put his problems aside and focus on what was happening. Like his brother pointing the gun at Dawn.

Sam jerked up, trying to fight the wave of dizziness that came with the movement— _a shovel to the head, right? That happened?_

He shifted, still sitting on the ground, until he was between Dawn's perched form and Dean's looming one. Dawn's fingers clenched on to his arm, as if in warning or in thanks.

"Dean?"

Dean was standing no more than twelve feet away now but had never seemed so distant. Sam felt his insides shake in anger, in knowing. He understood why his brother wasn't wrapping his arms around him right now. He understood why the tight frown on Dean's face didn't lift in the least when his gaze shifted from Dawn to Sam.

"You alright?" Dean asked. Just because he was supposed to.

Sam could remember being the monster his brother was currently addressing. No, not quite a monster. Just less than human. A shell of a person. And without his soul, he'd done some things…bad things. Some of them to Dean.

The tears gathering in his eyes were burning a hole through him. "God, Dean, I'm so sorry," he said, barely able to get the words out. "I'm so sorry."

A weight had just been dropped into his gut: _over a year._ Over a year. Sam realized it now, how long he'd been gone. The memories of Dawn…they'd taken place over a few months. The memories of being this _thing,_ this hunter playing human… There were over a year's worth of those.

Dean blinked, confused, but held his ground. "For what?"

"Dean, it's me." Sam bit down the smile he wanted to give him. "It's really me. All of me. I have my soul back."

Sam knew his brother wouldn't believe him, not after the lies his soulless self had spilled like water, but it still hurt to see the blatant doubt on Dean's face.

"Sam's soul is in Hell," Dean bit. "Now I don't know what the fuck just happened to you but—"

"My soul wasn't in Hell." Sam shook his head. "It was for a while, but then it got pulled out, and Dawn…" He'd almost forgotten the girl against his back, quiet as a mouse—which was so completely out of character for her that he almost turned around to make sure she was conscious. "My soul was trapped in this orb, but Dawn put it back. That's what she was doing—putting my soul in my body."

"Bullshit," Dean coughed, but his breath was quickened, as if the very idea excited him. "You're telling me some chick was walking around with your soul all this time? I don't think so."

"I know you think you would have known—but there's so much more to it." Going into dimensional travel and the Key and the Never... Sam wasn't sure if his head could handle that right now. He wasn't even sure where to begin. "Just put the damn gun down, already," he said, frustrated.

"As soon as you quit playing pretend, and tell me what's really going on, Sam," Dean replied, his face breaking with a shit-eating grin that did nothing to cover his anger. "What are you playing at?"

Sam rolled his hand over his face, hissing against the skin of his palm. When he looked back up, he cocked his head in sympathy. "I know this is hard, Dean. I know you have absolutely no reason to trust me, and you don't even know who Dawn is, but… There's got to be a way for me to prove it to you."

"I believe I can assist," a voice stated.

Sam jumped at the sound, eyes wide when he took in Castiel, standing right behind Dawn, his trenchcoat still whipped back from his arrival. The angel crouched down, bright blue eyes cutting through him.

Dawn gasped in surprise, falling against Sam's back.

"Cas, I—" he began.

Sam lost his ability to speak as he was tossed back down to the earth. He heard Dawn land beside him, sucking in a pained breath as the angel leaned over the two of them, his hands hovering above their stomachs.

"Stay still," Cas commanded, his voice hard. "This will be unpleasant."

Sam suddenly knew what was coming, but he didn't have time to warn Dawn before the angel's fingers dug into his skin. His vision darkened at the agonizing intrusion, Dawn's screams echoing in his ears.

* * *

Dean let the gun fall to his waist, transfixed by the image before him. Cas was crouched down over the writhing bodies of Sam and the girl—he'd said her name was Dawn, hadn't he?—with his arms sunk down into their torsos, a bright white glow escaping from the seamless wounds. Red veins crawled over their skin, like magma rolling just beneath the surface, and pooled at their closed eyes.

"Cas?"

Dean hadn't wanted to believe Sam's story, because believing, even for an instant, that his brother was fixed again meant being crushed when it turned out to be a false hope. A trick.

But, when he saw Castiel's expression…he knew the truth before the angel even opened his mouth.

"Their souls are intact. And human," Cas said, pulling free from their bodies and standing. There was something in his tone. Awe. Surprise. Regret. Something, but Dean couldn't quite put his finger on what. The angel held Dean's gaze, as if waiting for the knowledge to sink in. "Sam is whole. And this girl is… She's human."

Cas looked puzzled by his own conclusion.

"Did you…?"

Castiel cocked his head in thought. "This wasn't my doing. I came because I was nearby and felt a shift in the world. I believe it was this girl who drew my attention."

"Dawn," Dean supplied, and shook his head. "How?"

"It was her doing." Cas hesitated but didn't provide more of an answer, staring back down at the pair instead. "Hello, Sam. It's good to see you again."

Dean watched his brother's lips move to mutter something under his breath. Sam took the angel's offered hand and stumbled to a stand. The girl followed suit, wiping the mud off her backside as she moved.

"That doesn't get any less painful with practice," Sam said, and offered the angel a tight smile. "But I guess it proved my point."

"So not doing that again." Dawn added, her voice hoarse. "If this is how your friends say hello, Sam, remind me never to piss off your enemies." She turned her head, looking down at her arm, where her sleeve had been ripped. "My arm's fixed."

"I healed your wounds during my examination," Cas noted.

She raised a brow. "Nifty."

But, the angel hadn't stopped staring at her. "When did you receive a human soul, Key?"

Dean frowned. "Key?"

Her eyes widened almost comically at the question, and Castiel shook his head, as if knowing he wouldn't receive a proper answer. He turned to Dean. "She's no danger to you," he assured, able to read the question on the hunter's face. "But, it's important that I find out what allowed for her arrival in this dimension—I'll make inquiries and return when I have news."

Dean stood a little straighter. "Did you just say 'this dimension'?"

The angel didn't so much as take a step back before disappearing, leaving the three startled.

"Way to ditch," Dawn commented.

Dean took a step closer, propping the shotgun against the side of the silo as he moved. He got a decent look at Dawn for the first time. She was pretty and young, probably not even twenty yet, with long, light brown hair flowing over her shoulder. The hunter in him told him to pay closer attention, memorize her face, see what he hadn't earlier. See what it was that had made Cas fly off. But Dean put that guy to bed. He was done looking at her, eyes already back on his brother. His brother who looked no different than he had an hour ago, when they'd started their ghoul hunt. Only that man hadn't actually been his brother at all, and this man could be nothing less.

"Sam." The name itself made his heart rattle. Dean took in a short, shallow breath. "Sammy."

Sam's eyes were wet, his smile gentle. He crossed the short distance in a second, wrapping his arms around his brother. Dean held on as if his life depended on it, the crook of his arm around Sam's neck, his fingers clinging to his outer jacket.

"Dean, I missed you," Sam breathed into his shoulder.

Dean wanted to laugh, crack a joke, but the swell in his chest choked him, barely letting him get his own words out. "I missed you, too."

* * *

"Oh, bollocks."

The beast was done-for, an all but useless sack of gore. Its features were so marred by burns and slices and bruises that no hunter alive would have been able to recognize its species upon first glance. Crowley pulled his gloved hands up out of its chest cavity, dropping its still heart to the tarp beneath the chair. It landed with a splat, throwing purple juice onto the demon's dress shoes.

"I need better bloody monsters," he hissed at the dead creature.

Then, he cocked his head at the organ and bent down to retrieve it. A small white object was sticking out of the wide, torn mouth of the vena cava, as if it had been shoved in at the very last moment.

Crowley pulled it free, a wide grin cracking his face when he realized it was a roll of paper, barely the length of his finger. Let the diviners keep their cast bones and pig entrails—the beyond reached out to the Boss using different methods, it would seem.

He unrolled the message, smearing a stain over it as he read: _"Your package has been delivered. Payment to be collected shortly. –LM"_

An early Valentine from his favorite damned soul. How thoughtful. He wadded it into a ball, suddenly feeling somewhat better about his kill.

"Lawyers," he said, eying the monster's corpse. "Efficient buggers, aren't they?"


	8. When Opportunity Kicks in a Door

Dawn knew she wasn't going home tonight.

As it turned out, they weren't in Smallville, Kansas, as Sam had speculated, but right outside of Dickens, Iowa. The drive to Singer's Salvage Yard—yup, Bobby Singer was alive, because, as it turned out, having an angel as a friend was useful if you had your neck snapped during the Apocalypse—was a mere three hours away. But, for Dawn, who was stuck in the pitch black backseat of the rumbling Impala, those were a very long three hours down I-90.

Sam was exhausted.

She saw it on his face as he stumbled into the car at the farmhouse. She saw it the first hour of the drive, whenever his eyes lifted to the rearview mirror and caught hers, while he tried to give Dean the basics; where, why, how. That his story was fragmented and made almost no sense was understandable. After all, it was far into the A.M. now, and apparently he was carrying around a lot of new memories, so his head was feeling kind of heavy.

Dawn shivered at the mere thought. Over a year spent without a soul. Sure, he hadn't been a monster, like Angel, so soulless Sam probably hadn't spent his time ripping out throats and killing puppies. But, the man she saw, he'd tried to kill her. Just because he _thought_ she _might_ be a ghoul. How many other "mistakes" would he have made without his inner Jiminy Cricket? Judging from the string of apologies he'd sent Dean's way? A hell of a lot.

And then there was her. Dawn Summers. The parts that were even harder to explain all seemed to rotate around her, her world. She kinda hated being the freakiest freak in Freak Town.

Sam wasn't making with the explaining. He wasn't making with much of anything, a soft snore coming from the passenger's seat, where his head was propped against the window. Dawn wanted to follow his lead. After all, it had been a long. Damn. Day. But, the adrenaline pumping through her system left her jittery, bouncing one knee, and unable to stop shifting her eyes from the passing headlights outside to the men in the front seat.

Dean was quiet, his gaze intense as he studied the road in front of him, but he let his focus slide, at least once a minute, to his brother. Long lashes casting shadows over his eyes moved up as he scanned Sam's hunched form once; then his jaw twitched and he was back to watching the road. Dawn could have timed him.

He was dying to talk, to ask question, to reach out and touch his brother and shake him awake, make sure his soul was still inside. Dawn knew because she was in the same boat. Sam had described Dean as "kinetic," always moving, giving off that frenzied energy, even when he was trying to sit still. Dawn could see what he was talking about now.

"You can take the couch."

Dawn jumped at the sound of the words. "Huh?"

Dean cleared his throat a little, as if the statement had caught on something on its way up. "I don't think Bobby'll mind if you take the couch," he reaffirmed. "I called him at the gas station. Let him know we were on the way."

Dawn was nodding, which he couldn't see. "Sure. Okay."

"We'll talk about…We'll talk in the morning." His voice was strained, as if that was the opposite of what he had wanted to say. She realized it was, and that tiny allowance, that he was going to let her stay with his family without an interrogation, seemed like his way of trying to be nice to her. So, she smiled.

"Thanks," she said, meaning it.

He stiffened, then nodded to himself. "Yeah," he said, so softly she almost missed it. "Yeah, you too."

She could see the moonlight bouncing off the sign ahead, for the salvage yard. The stacks of cars, scattered metal frames, made the place look like a graveyard of sorts, but even from the road, she could see a house at center. A nice place, or it would have been with a touch of paint. The lights were on, shining out around thick curtains. A beacon of relief.

Tonight. Tonight, she'd be sleeping on a couch here, with strangers she knew too well. And—she pictured in her head—Xander would be sleeping on her I'm-an-adult-now sofa. Giles taking the guest room. Buffy standing over her little-but-bigger sister's bed, and not sleeping at all.

"I'm okay, Buffy," she whispered, assuring the universe in general. With slayers, angels, witches, demons, and magic portals in the equation, there was even a chance her sister would get that message, somehow.

* * *

Castiel could smell the blood upon arrival. It was rich, saturating the air, and if he had been just a man, he might have felt his stomach turn. But, he was an angel, and his expression didn't shift in the least when he took another step, deeper into the laboratory.

Crowley was straightening the tools of his trade onto a platter, wiping off the thick, drying gore marring their gleaming edges. The demon was dressed in his black suit pants and charcoal button-up, with a permanently stained once-white apron tied across his front. Castiel stayed back, watching him clean up.

There was no body on his table. Whatever he'd been questioning had already been taken away.

"You drop in, feathers ruffled, at three in the morning—something tells me you're not here for tea." Crowley turned his head, giving the angel a cocky wink. "A fella might get the wrong impression, you know."

"Did you know about the Key?" Castiel asked, his voice ringing with more curiosity than accusation.

Crowley's brow lifted with surprise. "Since you're playing it close to your chest, I'm going to step out on a limb and say you're asking about the one with a capital 'K'?" He gave a slow, sour smile. "Well, now that you mention it… I knew it might be on the table soon enough. Why? What have you heard about it?"

Castiel stilled. The demon wasn't telling him everything. But, the demon _never_ told him everything. The angel straightened, bristling from the thought.

"Did you know the Key had arrived in this world?" Castiel bit.

Amusement glimmered in Crowley's too-human eyes. He chuckled, low. "How on earth would I know that? After all, as you're well aware, I couldn't have possibly have collected it on my own. I might be the King of Hell—but _that_ kind of power would take a player on the other side of the fence." The demon paused, in thought. "But, I can't fault you for asking. The Key…That's just the sort of thing the two of us have been looking for, isn't it?"

Castiel forced down the conflict brewing in his mind. Already he was holding on to so many secrets. They threatened to spill out of him at any moment. But, he held fast to his stony expression, his sureness, not letting the doubt show on his face.

"You believe it could be used to open a door to Purgatory," he stated.

Crowley gave a careful shrug. "It is a Key, after all. We find the map and door, and I think we could put it to good use." His eyes darted up, darker, menacing, even though his voice remained light. "Where is it?"

Castiel didn't like the expression. Crowley didn't know what form the Key had taken—and he wouldn't care even if he did. "I will collect it," Castiel assured. He took a step forward, looming over the demon. "You do your job."

Crowley's jaw twitched. "We're partners in this. You'd do well to remember that."

"Do your job," Castiel repeated. With less conviction, he added, "I'll do mine."

He was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the demon to his work, and when his feet hit solid ground again, Castiel found himself in the foyer of a large manor. The chandelier above was darkened, the boxed air cold. As clean as it appeared, the estate felt abandoned. Castiel needed wait only a moment before there was a stirring behind him, the faintest clap of wings-unseen.

"You know, these meetings of yours have seriously cut into my social life," Balthazar greeted. "Triplets, Cassie. _Triplets_ and a bathtub of _champagne_."

Castiel tilted his head in a slight show of acknowledgement. "There was a weapon stolen from Heaven long ago. The Key of Many Doors."

Balthazar snorted. "Universal lock-pick, wasn't it?" He shook his head, and leaned against the stair's curving banister. "I hate to tell you this, Castiel, but that wasn't so much stolen as put away for safe keeping. I heard Father had a hand in making sure it went where we were forbidden—which, in retrospect, should have…" Balthazar paused, eyes widening slightly. "Wait—are you…? Why are you asking about the Key of all things? It's not exactly a weapon that would be useful in fighting Raphael."

"The Never," Castiel breathed, deep in thought, and purposely ignoring his brother's question. "That's where it was sent."

"Aptly named."

Castiel's eyes shot up. "Did you feel the disturbance earlier?"

"That little tickle? I assumed it was one of your favorite mud monkeys doing something stupid again." Balthazar frowned, mock despair written across his face. "Don't tell me one of them opened the door to that dimension with talking ducks again…"

"The Key is here. It has been put in human form."

Balthazar's amusement disappeared in an instant. "But I thought only Father could…" His voice broke off, and he shook his head. "Unlike the other toys upstairs, _it_ was hidden for a good reason, Castiel."

"She," he corrected. Castiel swallowed it down, almost ashamed of the admittance. "The Key has been made into a woman's form. She's here now. And, I mean to collect her. I need you to create a diversion. Other angels may have felt the shift—Raphael surely did. But they won't know what it means. It should be easy to convince them that it was caused by one of the other weapons."

Balthazar was quiet. Castiel felt a prickling sensation across his neck. A sense of wrong from his vessel. A warning. But he ignored it. As he did the guilt beginning to well up in him as his plans solidified. This was for the greater good, he assured himself. Better he collect her than wait for Raphael to find her first.

It was as if a mask had slipped back over Balthazar's face. Too many thoughts covered by a narrowed gaze that only pretended to be casual curiosity. The expression on the other angel's face was almost enough to make Castiel regret coming here.

"We're in a room without doors, Cas. What could you _possibly_ want to use the Key for?"

Castiel shook his head. "Do as I ask, if you still wish to stop Raphael," he said, and flew.

* * *

Sam woke at sunrise.

It took him a moment to get his bearings, remember that he had a body, a form that could move on its own, that he didn't have to stay put and watch from afar. While he lay in bed, curling and uncurling his fingers, as if to assure himself that he was using them properly, he looked out at the room. For as often as they'd stayed at Bobby's, they hadn't used this upstairs guest room much. It was usually brimming with papers and books, supplies. And, truthfully, he and Dean were more comfortable downstairs, especially before Sam's trip to the cage, when Bobby, wheelchair-bound, had been stuck living out of the main room.

Sam remembered Bobby saying something last night, about the room still being made up from when Ben and Lisa were staying here. Sam couldn't help it; his eyes went straight to the cot where Dean was sleeping, stomach down. His big brother looked peaceful, which was in direct contradiction to what Sam had been considering, that his own presence had managed to steal away Dean's sole moment of normalcy, the vague promise of new family… Dean didn't look like he was suffering, though.

Sam smiled and quietly pulled himself out from under the covers. He was still in dirt-crusted jeans and a bloody flannel shirt, because he'd been too dead on his feet to shower the night before, even when it was offered up. Spotting his duffel, no doubt dragged in by Dean, he went to it, pulled out a fresh set of clothes, and slipped out of the room and down the stairs.

He purposely kept his eyes away from the doors to the living room, Bobby's study, as he walked down the hallway, toward the downstairs bathroom. He wanted his head clear, his body clean, before he looked at her at all. Before he let himself remember how his two worlds had just been smashed together so catastrophically.

As the first one awake, the shower was deliciously hot. Sam let the water pound against his back and considered taking up worship. In his mind, he knew he'd taken showers since his trip downstairs. He knew it. He knew he'd drunk beer, eaten burgers, screwed women, and killed monsters since then. He knew all that, but _those_ memories felt like they were from a dream. The ones vivid, the ones _real_ , were from being with Dawn, in her apartment, in her classes.

Sam sucked in a breath, realizing the heat coursing over his skin wasn't just from the shower. A familiar, lately _very_ familiar, frustration was building in him, traveling south in a hurry. He switched the water from hot to cold and rinsed himself off before hopping out.

It was surprisingly easy to do, put aside that primal urge to get a quick release— _I probably have Dawn to thank for that. Damn tease._ Of course, the difference between then and now being that he couldn't actually _do_ anything about it as a crystal ball.

Sam shook his head, slinging water droplets out of his hair like a dog as he stepped back into the chill hallway, dressed. He needed to get his mind off this subject. He needed to—

_The hell?_

He hadn't realized he was stopped in front of the front window until his mind did a double take and made him look past the curtains again. Yeah, his brain had been right the first time. That _was_ Dawn, standing outside in the cold, a maroon afghan wrapped around shoulders, like she didn't have a care in the world.

Sam saw his boots further down the hallway, at the edge of the stairs—he didn't even remember taking them off last night, just Dean pulling him out of the Impala, Bobby forcing a swig of holy water into each of them before having a heated discussion with Dean in the closed-off kitchen. Sam could only guess that his family treated Dawn half-way decent since she wasn't currently locked in the panic room.

He slipped on his shoes and out the front door. The cool morning air slapped him across his still-damp face, but, for this time of year, it was damn-near mild.

Dawn's shoulders stiffened when she heard his steps on the porch. She was standing just off of it, staring at the driveway, the exit.

Sam swallowed hard.

"I expected you to sleep the day away. What time is it?"

He smiled at her back. "Me, too. Uh, dunno. Six…ish? Have you been out here long?"

She shook her head and turned. And, Sam let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He'd expected to see tears. Maybe even hate. Instead she had a serene blankness to her expression.

"Not long. Just enjoying the early morning. I couldn't sleep." She rolled her eyes. "And, yeah, I realize it's probably not exactly the safest move, wandering about a hunter's property, but there you go. Dawn Summers, ever laughing in the face of common sense."

Sam stepped up beside her, trying to enjoy the gray overcast view. He took in her change of clothes, her own, so they had probably been salvaged from her overnight bag. She was clean, too, hair dry—obviously he hadn't been the first one to hit the showers, after all.

"I'm sorry, Dawn."

She raised a brow, giving him a once over. "For?"

He huffed. "Seriously?"

"For not fixing me breakfast yet?" she supplied.

Sam shook his head, trying to be annoyed, and failing. "Dawn, you know… This is my fault. You're stuck here right now because of me. You nearly got killed _by_ me… I'm so damn sorry about this."

Dawn took a step away. "Sorry," she muttered, like she was mocking him. "That's just great…"

Sam found himself chasing after her as she quickly walked down the drive, rounding the side of the house where they'd parked only a few hours ago. He gently grabbed hold of her arm.

"I know you don't have a reason to forgive me, but—"

For a second, he thought she was sobbing into her hand, but when she stopped, to turn around, she was stifling her laughter. She held her hands up to stop him from continuing, and backed into the Impala's tail-light, all but bouncing from the impact in her frantic need to get away.

"Are you freakin' kidding me?" she snapped. And, there was more than a little annoyance bleeding out past her strained grin. "I _promised_ you I'd do this. I promised I'd find a way to get you back to your brother and your body." She waved her hands at him dramatically. " _Ta-da_! I can officially check that off my to-do list."

Sam held a hand up, stopping her from side-stepping away from him. She stayed against the back of the car, staring up at him.

"And I could never thank you enough—"

"Here comes the 'but'," Dawn announced, pursing her lips. "This is the part where you explain that you can never repay me for being a good friend and trying to help, _'but'_ now it's time for me to get out of your hair so you can go back to living your life. I get it. Body returned, you no longer need me to entertain you. You don't have to say it, Sam."

Sam blinked. "Entertain me? You can't actually believe that."

Dawn swallowed, suddenly interested in the ground. "Stockholm syndrome," she muttered.

"What?"

"Well, okay, maybe not Stockholm syndrome but..." She shook her head. "Look. You were stuck with me. You didn't have a choice. I was the only one you could talk to, so of course you had to be friendly to me."

Sam reached out, cupping her cheek. He lifted her head until her red-rimmed eyes were locked onto his. "Dawn. I want you to look at me. I may have been _stuck_ with you, but that doesn't mean I don't…I doesn't mean I never… _God_ , you drive me nuts!"

She snorted. "Wow. Sam Winchester, word smith. You sure we went to the same Stanford?"

He found himself hunched forward, pressing his lips against hers to stop her from speaking. She surrendered to the kiss, groaning into his mouth as he pulled away.

"Actions speak louder than words," she admitted, her hands lingering at his sides. She made a move to sit on the back of the car and Sam raised a brow of warning.

"Like Dean'll ever know," she smirked.

Sam gave it some thought, glancing at the back of the house, up at the windows, where Dean and Bobby were still deep in sleep. Dean, especially, had never been an early riser. Sam ran with the notion, reaching down to grab her by her jeans and pull her up on to the trunk of the car.

She made a breathy gasp at the display, and it sent a ghostly caress down his spine. He wanted to hear that sound again. And, soon.

"Me Jane, you Tarzan—enjoying the manly feats of manliness?" she joked.

Sam didn't give the answer he wanted to give, biting into his lip to stop himself from explaining just how manly he could be. Instead he shook his head, trying to get back on topic.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I want you here. I do. But, when Castiel comes back, he might know of a way to get you home. If he does—"

"I've been worried, you know," she said, cutting him off. "I've been worried about Buffy. About how my friends are, if they'll know I'm okay or if they'll spend the next month tearing apart Sacramento and Joey the Drooler." She paused. "But I haven't been as worried as I should be. It's not because I don't love my sister. It's not because I wouldn't tell her where I am in a heartbeat, if given half a chance…"

"But, you have to find a way to let her know. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't."

"I will," she promised. "I will. But, that doesn't mean I'm looking for a way home. Not right away. I feel guilty for even saying it, but I know Buffy can take care of herself. And, if your angel friend said I could leave today, I don't know if—"

Sam leaned his forehead down against her hair, taking in her scent. "Dawn, I don't think you know what you're saying."

He was surprised when she let her hands drift under his shirt, finding smooth, taunt muscles beneath, and he returned the welcome gesture by pushing the old blanket off of her shoulders and onto the car behind her.

"Then stop me from saying it," she whispered against his neck, and planted a biting kiss on the spot.

Sam pushed himself against her, dipping his head so that he could catch her lips again. The slope of the car, the slickness of the metal, sent her body sliding against his, thigh bouncing against his hip when he pushed her back to deepen the kiss. The accidental friction left his pulse racing, but he hesitated when her fingers tugged his zipper down.

"If keep doing that, you better commit," he warned. Not his most romantic line, but he was straining against his boxers as it was. He couldn't stand it, the thought of not having her again, after months of knowing exactly what he wanted. As chill as it was outside, it was no deterrent, and he wasn't even sure if a cold shower would do the trick again. Still, he had to give her the chance to back out. "If you're planning to stop, stop now."

Dawn let her hand slip past the denim, finding him hot and hard, and forcing a choked, anxious sound out of his throat. Sam clenched his jaw, trying to muffle the moan.

"I don't know need a right time or a right place, Sam. You're the only part of the equation I need."

"Dawn." Sam swallowed. It took all of his will power to pull her hand free from his jeans. "Stay."

He disappeared around the front of the car, quietly opening the door, rifling through the glove box for the protection behind the extra Glock. There had been a steady supply left here ever since Dean had been given the Impala, but Sam had the strangest feeling he had been the last one to re-stock. He shook his head, refusing to dwell on those memories. They were fog; _this_ was real. When he reappeared with a small foil packet in his hand, Dawn grinned.

"Screw the boy scouts —'be prepared' must be the Winchester motto."

Sam already had her shirt off her shoulders before she could finish the statement. He kissed a line down her stomach as he worked her jeans free, studying her soft skin as he moved. He lingered on the faint scars at her stomach, then raised a hand to part her knees so he could slide back between them. _Christ, her legs_ …Sam had been thinking about these long legs wrapping around him for ages.

Once again, he was considering the Impala his friend—the slick trunk left her sliding down to meet his mouth with ever shimmy of her body.

"You're going to pay for all those strip teases," he warned with a wide smile.

The stifled gasp she gave when he gently scraped his teeth against the soft inside of her thigh was acknowledgement enough. He let his fingers find her heat and provide a guide for his mouth. Suckle. Bite. Kiss. It was the right combination to elicit another one of those wonderful sounds from her lips, and once he found the pattern, she melted in his hands.

When he lifted his eyes, her head was raised, gaze glued on him. Watching him enjoy her. It made him heavy, made him _ache_ with need, but he still had work to do before he got around to himself. _Hell yes, she'd pay_ , and he was going to make sure she loved every second of it.


	9. Paved With Good Intentions

Dawn felt high and sore and numb below the waist. She lingered beside the kitchen counter, enjoying a spoonful of peanut butter with a happy hum at her lips, barely aware that another human being had stepped into the room. She'd been waiting in the kitchen, snooping through the cabinets, for nearly an hour now, and yet, despite the boredom, she'd enjoyed the time to herself. To think.

Or, more specifically to enjoy the instant re-play in her head— _good lord of the hotties_ , cold outside or not, that was…that was _wow_. And, she thought she'd had _wow_ before, but obviously not Sam Winchester's brand of _wow_. It was quick, frenzied, and quiet to keep from waking the others inside the house, but, _Holy Hannah_ , it was like he'd spent the last few months studying her body, mapping out exactly what he'd wanted to try out—maybe he had. Trapped in that ball, he'd had a lot frustration that couldn't be worked out in a physical way, which she hadn't exactly made easy for him.

And, something about the way he'd kissed her when they'd finished. It was a promise that there was more to come. Dawn felt heat pooling in her stomach at the thought alone. They were seriously going to need a room next time.

A cleared throat pulled her from her naughty recollection, and she shot Dean a guilty smile. _No, nothing to see here. Totally didn't defile your car recently._

"Hey." She tossed the spoon in the sink, hoping he couldn't see the flush at her cheeks. "Did you and Bobby finish interrogating Sam already?"

Dean frowned, so dramatically that it was nearly a pout, and pulled a chair out from under the table…Well, it looked like it used to be a table. It more closely resembled a desk at the moment.

"We weren't 'interrogating' him," he snapped. "We were just asking him questions. You know, the usual—how you been, what dimension have you been hanging out in lately, Satan still taking the wheel? And he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he was in a pretty mood considering the night he had."

_Good mood, you say? Wouldn't know anything about that_. Dawn bit down her grin.

Instead of putting the jar's lid back on, Dawn snatched up a clean spoon, stuck it inside the sticky mess, and handed the peanut butter to Dean. He blinked twice at it and took the offered snack, sitting it aside.

"Uh. Thanks." But he didn't touch the spoon. "So… I need to talk to you."

"Oh, it's my turn now." Dawn plopped down into the other chair. "Isn't Bobby coming?"

Dean shook his head, looking perturbed. Dawn realized it was probably because of how casually she'd brought up the older hunter. Like she knew him or something. Dawn decided to reign in it in—she might have spooked them when they arrived. Dean had put Sam up in the bedroom and come back to see Dawn chatting Bobby up about his anti-supernatural panic room. The hunters had just stared dumbly at her and given half answers until she took the offered blanket and pillow and surrendered to the couch.

"Bobby went on a supply run," Dean said. "Sam's upstairs. And, yeah, it's your turn."

"Well, what do you want to know? Because, I honestly have no clue how we managed to get from my world to yours. Sam told you about the Key thing?"

She watched him closely, gauging his reaction. He rolled his shoulder, as if working out an old kink, but didn't lose eye contact.

_He_ so _trusts me. Not_.

"Sam said you were a key to the doors of the dimensions, something about your blood or… Hell, I don't even know. But, you're a not a supernatural creature, or Cas wouldn't have been able to find a human soul in you." Dean paused, twitching his jaw as if trying to form the right words. "Sam told me what happened. Mostly. And, I believe him."

Dawn nodded. "You should." She cocked her head. "So, what exactly did you want to talk to me about?"

Again with the jaw. _Sam was right about_ _Winchesters and their attempts to hold it all in._ Finally, Dean cleared his throat again, his husky voice rushed when it returned. "What are your intentions toward my brother?"

Dawn waited for more, then let the words sink him. The laughter rattled its way through her body before it left her mouth in short, gasping bursts. Dean didn't look particularly pleased with the reaction. He rolled his eyes, aggravated—possibly more with himself than her judging from the way he slumped back in his chair.

"You're serious?" Dawn giggled. "'My _intentions_?' It's a little too late to be having this conversation, isn't it?"

Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion. His eyes widened and he made a face. "Oh, come on," he huffed. "You guys didn't—you did? When the hell did you manage—? Shit, never mind. That's not what I'm talking about." He paused, waiting a moment for her to sober up. "Listen, lady, in my experience, people don't just go to that much trouble to help out someone they don't know. We've run into too many backstabbing—"

"Say 'bitches' and get slapped." Dawn glared at him, and he held his tongue. "This is about Ruby. And all the other people and things that have done you wrong. I get that," she said. "I've been betrayed before, too. So, I get it. Trust issues abound."

"Then you understand why I have a hard time believing you'd put everything on the line just to help Sam." It wasn't a question.

Dawn leaned forward, and he mimicked the movement. "What do you do, Dean?" When he didn't reply, she asked again. "What _are_ you, Dean? What were you raised to do?"

"I'm a hunter," he said. He stared down at his hands, hanging between his knees, and nodded once to himself. "Save people. Hunt things."

"What do you get out of it?" she asked.

Dean didn't answer immediately. "Sam said your friends, your sister, are in the same business." He glanced up. "You, too, then?"

"For a long time, I didn't think I was like my sister. I didn't understand how she'd sacrifice her life, any chance to be normal, just to slay evil." Dawn reached out, resting a hand over his and then pulled away when she felt him tense. "But, yeah. Turns out, I am like her. Like you guys. Your brother needed help. What would you have done in my place?"

Dean took a long breath. "These days… I don't even know." He brushed off that answer. His eyes grinned when they found hers. "Wouldn't have had sex with him afterward, that's for damned sure."

Dawn didn't dare blush. She gave him a cocky smile of her own. "Well, that's where you and I differ, isn't it?"

Dean stood, brow raised. "This talk has officially gotten too weird for me."

"You started it."

"I'm ending it," Dean shot back, stepping toward the doorway into the main room. "Get your dirty laundry together—need to do a load before the old codger gets back and starts complaining about the stench."

Dawn rolled her eyes and turned away from him, staring at the dishes. She wondered if Bobby would think she was overstepping her bounds if she washed them up, put on something to eat for lunch… Mid-way through the thought, she heard the creak of a shoe against the wooden flooring. The double doors leading to the other room slid shut.

"Remembered another awkward question you wanted to ask me?"

But, when she glanced over her shoulder, it wasn't Dean behind her. She took a quick step away, surprised by the angel's appearance, but Castiel didn't move to announce himself. He simply stared at her, his blue eyes intense and unblinking.

"Dean's in the other room," she said, softly, but she'd already realized that the angel knew as much. And that he'd shut the doors anyhow.

Nervousness crawled over her, like ants marching up and down her arms, and she swallowed. The grimness of the angel's expression didn't sit well with her, supposed friend or not. "Castiel, right? With guy the disappearing hand trick that I never want to see again? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes," he said, solemnly.

Dawn felt his fingers close around her wrist before she'd even had a chance to step out of reach. Cas' grip tightened on her. "I regret that this must be done," he said, quietly, "but it's necessary, if I'm to protect this world."

Dawn had the sinking feeling that the words were an apology.

* * *

Sam had just bound down the stairs and into the study when Dean stormed back through the front door, snapping his cell phone shut as he moved. Sam caught his eye. "Not upstairs either. Anything?"

"She's not outside unless she's hiding in a car." Dean shook his head, aggravated by the mere suggestion. "I called Bobby—he's headed home now. He's going to drive in the other direction a bit, see if he spots her hitchhiking."

"This smells all kinds of wrong." Sam knew he sounded breathless, as if the search had worn him out, but it wasn't exertion but worry sapping the life from him. "This isn't like Dawn. I mean, she's reckless sometimes, but she wouldn't have taken off, no matter what you'd said to her. She wouldn't have left…" _Me_. _She wouldn't have left "me."_ It was the word he left off the end, not wanting to admit to that level of trust just yet.

Dean seemed to hear it nevertheless, but gave a quick jerk, backtracking. "I didn't say anything bad, damn it!" he snapped. "She wasn't pissed when I left her. Hell, she was crackin' jokes about your 'good mood'—oh, and way to go, Sammy." Dean smirked, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "The girl's not in this dimension twenty-four hours and you—"

"Dean!"

"Yeah, yeah—not the time." Dean ran his hand down his face and tilted his head in consent. "But you're right. Something smells off. I wasn't out of this friggin' room but for a _second_ —I should have heard her if she tried to leave. It's like she vanished." His eyes widened slightly, and Sam didn't particularly like the conclusion they'd both just come to.

"You're thinking an angel took her?" Sam let out a shallow breath. His body thrummed with anticipation, muscles tight and ready for a fight. "Shit, Dean."

"If Cas said he felt you two arrive, or whatever, then, maybe someone else did too." Dean looked like the thought put a sour taste in his mouth. He nodded before Sam could make the request, and closed his eyes in prayer. "Cas, we could really use your help down here." He peeked through one eyelid and growled in frustration when he didn't spot the angel. Unconsciously tilting his head toward the heavens, his voice came out rushed. "Come on, dude! We've got an emergency of the your-douchebag-big-brothers variety!"

"You don't say?"

Both brothers jumped at the sound of the voice, hands automatically moving for useless weapons. Balthazar rolled his eyes at the heated glares sent his way.

"Balthazar," Dean bit, like the name was a curse. "You might not have noticed, but we weren't exactly praying to you."

"Castiel isn't coming, boys," the angel announced, a tight, bitter grin breaking through his annoyance. He leaned back, taking a seat on the edge of Bobby's desk and waving a hand dismissively. "Now, if you two of you are quite done checking under the welcome mat for your lost hide-away Key, perhaps you'd like to do something a bit more constructive with your time."

Hands in fists at his side, Sam barely kept himself from lunging forward. He knew this angel's face, from those foggy memories. _Balthazar. Asshole. Stole Heaven's weapons. Cas let him go._ He shook his head, cutting off the string of thoughts.

His voice was dangerously low. "What have you done with Dawn?"

"Dawn?" He raised a brow. "Ah—the Key's name. Of course. She'd need one, wouldn't she? Being human and all…" He hesitated, his gaze drifting from one brother to the other. There was a hint of weariness in his eyes that confused Sam, but neither of the Winchesters had a chance to question it. "While I realize that the expert stealing of powerful, divine weapons is obviously in my repertoire, I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong angel this time."

Sam smirked back, but the expression remained more of a snarl. "And you're just here to, what, lend us a hand finding her?"

"I'm not here to do a damn thing for the Brothers Winchester," the angel snapped, losing some of his calm control. He stood a bit straighter, his aggravation barely masking the plea in his voice. "I'm here to stop a friend, before he gets himself in over his head. And, my guess is, the two of you will want to help, since this is entirely your fault, after all."

_What the hell?_ Sam felt a hand hold him in place, stop him from asking what this had to do with Dawn missing, and Dean stepped past him, a frown on his face.

Dean stared the angel down a moment. "What are you trying to say exactly?"

"Do I really have to spell it out to you?" Balthazar sighed. "Castiel loves you humans far too much for his own good, and he's about to make a very stupid mistake in his attempt to save the lot of you."

Sam watched the shift on his brother's face, from betrayal to denial, and instantly, his stomach dropped.

Sam didn't like where this was going. Balthazar's words had sent a few other foggy memories to surface, and he didn't like what they implicated—his soulless self hadn't known who'd raised him from Hell. Dean still didn't know. Cas hadn't told him the truth when he'd asked. _Why?_ Because he was ashamed he'd failed to retrieve all of him? The why didn't really matter—what did matter was that Cas had lied about it… And, now, with his instincts back in place, some of those other memories of the angel were beginning to seem a bit out-of-character as well.

"Bullshit," Dean hissed. "I've got every reason to trust Castiel, and absolutely no reason to trust you. And you want me to believe he just up and kidnapped Sam's girl because…Why? He wanted to take a vacation to another dimension?"

"I don't know the exact reason, but I could take a guess." Balthazar cocked his head. "But, wouldn't you rather ask him yourself?"

* * *

Dawn wrapped her arms around herself, holding tight. Wherever she was now, it was experiencing a cold front. That, or her body was reacting to the dread flooding her thoughts. She shivered, a movement that seemed lost on the man standing a few feet away, his back to her, as if he found something immensely interesting about the gray wall in front of him.

_No_ , she corrected herself. _Not a man, an angel, because, hey, I've been kidnapped by a Hell Goddess before, so why not?_ But, if there was a distinction between a person and an angel, other than the whole superpowers thing and the lack of social know-how, she was having a hard time seeing it in this guy.

His voice was low, steady. Focused. A man— _err, angel_ —on a mission. "…And he's not wrong—Raphael does have the ability to put the Apocalypse back in motion," he was finishing, "unless he is stopped. I cannot conquer him as I currently am. The souls will be of great aid. You can understand, then, why I require your abilities."

The story had chilled her to the bone, and Dawn didn't reply, or dare move, afraid that a nod would look like she was conceding the point behind his tale: to justify his actions, like most oblivious villains do. Castiel glanced over his shoulder, watching her for a reaction.

The weary expression in his eyes looked so completely human. He was torn, emotionally, even though he didn't display it the way normal people did. And, that, the fact that he was doubtful of his own actions, that was the only thing keeping her from attempting—with what would no doubt lead to a disastrous ending—one of the more basic defense spells Willow had taught her. Instead, Dawn forced herself to calm down, release her comforting self-hug, and take him all in.

_This is Castiel. Sam told me everything he knew about him. I can handle this—granted, I could do a better job with Sam in my head to guide me. Why the heck did you have to go and get a body, Sam?_

"So, in conclusion, you've been working with a demon," Dawn said, unable to stop the words from slipping out, "and lying to your only friends about it? I could be wrong, but I think I've heard this story before, and it didn't turn out so hot."

_Yes. Chastise the kidnapper. That's always worked so well for me in the past._

He didn't react, at all, but his eyes seemed to dim, the only acknowledgement that the words had cut him like a knife. Or, at least, Dawn hoped they had. She wanted to believe that what Sam had told her about this guy was true. And, God help her— _seriously, a hand would be nice, Big Guy!_ —but she did believe the angel to be a friend. Sam had been so adamant about the fact… She'd felt it in his emotions, in his soul. So, she channeled that, trying to put herself in Sam's shoes— _what would he say if his brother's best friend suddenly revealed a super-villain-esque plan?_

"I didn't think you'd understand," Castiel admitted, nevertheless looking upset. "But I _am_ doing this for them, for the world they love. This is the only way possible to insure its safety."

"Oh, I get that part."

Dawn took a cautious step to one side, getting a better glimpse of the dimly lit room that they'd, for lack of a better word, _apparated_ into. It appeared to be a basement of some sort, the floor and wall cleared of debris, no doubt in preparation for a ritual. _Or a not-so-virgin sacrifice_. She brushed that terrifying thought away, and let her gaze sweep the area again. There was an exit, but it was too far away to be of any help. So much for easy.

"I get that you want to save the world, and you'll use any means necessary. Gotcha. But, I think you're kind of forgetting something."

Castiel's eyes darted up, narrowed.

Dawn didn't wait for his reply. "You've already done this once before, Castiel. Or, okay, maybe you didn't, but those guys you've been lying to did. Those weak, _human_ guys. They managed it, with your help… What I don't get is why you think you have to be Supreme Emperor of the Universe to do what they did with will-power and a kick-ass car—yeah, orb-Sam was chatty. I know how it went down the first time, so consider my opinion on the matter informed."

"I can't…" Castiel's fingers curled into fists at his side, his gaze lowered from hers. "Raphael will destroy them if they become involved. This is my fight now."

"Yeah, but you're not fighting it alone." Dawn felt her fear folding to aggravation. "And you shouldn't have to—but don't you think Sam and Dean would be a better choice than some demon?"

"You wound me, sweetheart. I'm not just _some_ demon."

Dawn barely stopped herself from jumping out of skin when a hand rested on the small of her back, stilling her completely. The man— _err_ , _demon_ —who had appeared so suddenly at her side was wearing a steady, dangerous smirk.

"Or haven't you heard," he said, his British accent practically dripping from his lips, "I'm the King of Hell."

"Crowley," Dawn growled, stepping out of his grip. "Yeah, I caught your name during story-time."

Crowley didn't lose the tiny grin at the corner of his mouth, but something flickered in his eyes. Excitement. Dawn swallowed hard. _That can't be good_.

He casually turned his attention to Castiel. "What do you say I put our little investment here somewhere safe until we can use her? I've got just the place."

Castiel's voice was hard. "No."

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but Castiel's sharp gaze cut him off. "I said _no_. I need to…further explore her essence."

The demon cocked one brow. "Always knew you angels were kinky buggers. Mind if I join you? Gotta say, I'm rather interested in learning what makes a Key tick, myself."

"Leave." Castiel seemed to think better of his quick reply. "I would prefer to do this alone," he said, more softly.

Crowley's smile faltered, but he raised his hands in surrender. "Fine. But I get my chance next," he said. He shot her a dark look. "And don't break the bloody thing…"

He was gone a moment later, leaving the angel and the girl to their lonesome.

"Explore my essence?" Dawn tried to keep her voice steady. "That doesn't sound comfortable."

Castiel tilted his head. "It won't be," he said, quietly. "But, I need to know how you work in order to use you to open the door to Purgatory."

Dawn took a breath, angry. With herself. With stupid angels and stupid demons. With Sam for not being in her head right now. Still, her voice trembled. "Are you planning to kill me?"

Castiel look startled by the question. "No," he replied, in that same low voice, "I do not believe that will be necessary."

"What if it is? What if you can't open the door without killing me? Would you do it?"

He stayed quiet a moment too long.

She bit her bottom lip, trying to stop herself, but she couldn't. A tear ran down her face. She bitterly reached up, swiping it away. One morning with the guy of her dreams. One morning was all she'd been allowed. Life was so unfair. "I'm not asking if you could. I'm asking if you _would_. Would you do that to Sam?"

It was a blow that hit home. She saw the doubt cross his face, but he remained stony.

"See _that_." She raised a finger, pointing it at his chest. "See that hesitation right there. That's how you should know something's wrong. You sacrificed everything you were so that Dean and Sam wouldn't have to, and then you're suddenly willing to hurt them again? You said Crowley 'loaned' you some of Hell's souls to give you a boost, right? You don't think that's screwing with your decision making skills just a bit?"

"That has nothing to do with—"

"Doesn't it? Okay—from the Angel 101 I received, I know you guys pick up vessels from devout people. Good people, usually, right? And you get your strength from Heaven—aka, the souls upstairs? And demons, they get their power from souls downstairs, right?" She shook her head. "So, you seriously think that switching up the type of batteries you're using isn't having an effect on you?"

Castiel blinked at her, but then shook his head. "Even if it were so… Raphael remains to be defeated. I require the strength the souls of Purgatory can give me."

Dawn rested her forehead against her palm and groaned in frustration. "Jeeze, seriously? My sister has spent most of her life keeping the power-hungry types away from a manhole to monsterland, and guess what? Those guys wanting to break it open are the ones who want to _end_ the world, not save it. I've seen it before, Cas—good things, they're _so_ not coming through that door." She took a breath and reached out, digging her fingers into the sleeve of his coat. "If you need help so badly, ask for it. For God's sake, just ask! You have friends, real ones."

Castiel pulled out of her grip, his brow low, face set. The expression sunk her tirade like the Titanic. "I will not pull the Winchesters back into this. They shouldn't have to face this battle again. Already, they've lost too much."

Defeated, Dawn frowned, closing her eyes to block him out. "Castiel, _please_. Don't."

"I'm sorry," she heard him say. She didn't look at him, even when she heard his voice lose its confidence. "Raphael must be defeated at all costs. I know what that means now. Sacrifices must be made."

* * *

"I apologize for requesting an audience during your off hours, but don't you think the restraints are a bit unnecessary?"

Lilah's voice was strained, no doubt due to the thin, biting chains digging into her upper arms, holding her flush against the floor of Hell's most frequented office. Another set of restraints curled around her bare ankles. Despite her position, staring up at a ceiling that was a black, endless void and being forced to listen to the teasing sounds of his footsteps, there was a complete lack of fear on her face. Crowley considered, for a moment, how much fun it might be to change that, but his time was better spent on another task. He sighed, put out—work was work.

"Oh, darling, I haven't a problem with the hour. Haven't you heard? A demon's work is never done." He paused, located himself at her right shoulder, and stared down at the woman with a smirk at his lips. "This is a good position for you, you know. At my feet." The grin grew tighter. "I'd be apt to enjoy it I weren't having a particularly bad day."

Lilah attempted to cock her head. "Let me guess. Having angel problems?"

The chains groaned, breaking flesh as they lost their slack. Lilah barely winced.

"How ever did you know?" Crowley asked. The playfulness left his voice. "Bleedin' idiot's having second thoughts about our arrangement. He puts on a damn good front, but there's no lying to a demon. I know it's there… Doubt. A dangerous thing. He plans to leave me in the dust."

"If the angel's being uncooperative, I suggest you take your business elsewhere." Lilah smiled pleasantly when he raised a brow. "But, you should do it quickly."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Crowley already knew what it meant, of course. Dimensional doors, Key at the ready or not, couldn't be opened without a bit of blood on the forehead and a sense decent timing, at least not without putting in more work than necessary.

"The window is open."

"Now?"

"Now." Lilah nodded, her hair spilling out like a blanket around her. "I was here to bring you the rest of what you need to open the portal. The paperwork is on your desk."

Crowley snorted. "That's well and good, but I have the sneaking suspicion my angel's about to go rogue. It won't do to have him run off with my new toy and open the door without me."

Lilah shrugged. "Then stop him. If you can't, find someone who can."

The demon stepped away from her, ignoring her struggle against the chains, and glanced the scroll of paper lying on his mahogany desk. "I suppose I might have an enemy of an enemy up my sleeve…"


	10. Follow the White Rabbit

"The hardest thing in this world…is to live in it."

The words left Dawn's mouth, not her sister's, but even still, she could feel the pinpricks behind her eyes, tears gathering as she was flooded with the emotions she'd felt that day on the tower. She pushed it down. This was not that day. Buffy was alive. Buffy was _fine._

Buffy was not here.

Dawn sucked in another breath. "Be brave. That's what she said. 'Be brave. Live. For me.'"

The last of it was spoken so quietly that she wasn't sure if he'd heard her.

Castiel watched her, his body leaning forward slightly, as if he thought she might be cracking open along the seams. He studied her a moment longer, his eyes wide, bright. "Yes," he agreed. "Those will do."

Dawn shook her head, breaking from the moment. "Cas…you shouldn't…this plan. It's a horrible plan. You get that, right?"

"Yes," he agreed. "It is. Horrible. I will likely fail in my attempts. But, it is necessary."

Dawn took a step forward, resting a hand on his shoulder, begging him to reconsider, but his frown only deepened. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Castiel stiffened, turning the both of them to face the corner of the room.

They were no longer alone.

"Dawn."

She felt a shiver run down her spine at the sound of her name on his lips. Sam was standing, feet spread, knife in hand, as if he were readying for battle. Dawn locked eyes with him, anxiousness and relief colliding in her throat and not letting a single word of welcome pass.

Dean was a foot away from his brother, blinking in surprise, as if he hadn't really expected to see Dawn or Castiel in the room. As if his arrival was just as much as a surprise to him as it was to her. There was a third man as well, standing between the two, and just behind them. Dawn guessed he must be an angel, if he'd just popped into existence with the guys in tow.

Dawn shot Cas a sideways, questioning glance, but he was caught up in staring at the three newcomers, a look of open guilt on his face.

"Sam, Dean…" He swallowed. "I see Balthazar has been in contact with you."

"We couldn't find Dawn." Sam said it like it explained everything. He swallowed hard enough for her to see his throat tense. "We prayed to you, but you didn't answer."

"I required her presence," Castiel replied.

Dawn rolled her eyes. _Well countered, Captain Obvious_.

"Cas? What the hell, man?" Dean asked, and fifty more silent questions seemed to follow.

The look on his face—Dawn shuddered. She totally didn't want to be the cause of that look any time soon. But, the oldest Winchester's eyes didn't echo the dangerous grimace. They were full of hurt. Confusion. And it suddenly clicked, why the guys were here. To rescue her…from the bad guy. Their best friend.

"I brought them to talk some sense into you," the other angel—Dawn had to assume was Balthazar—noted, as if he were explaining why he'd added peas to a casserole. "Whatever you're up to, dimensional doors are never one's friend, and these mud monkeys seem to have such sway over you… Hope you're not upset, Cassie."

Castiel raised a hand to stop him. "I understand…"

"Dawn, are you okay?"

Dawn smiled back at Sam, hoping it looked sincere. "This is just a little mix-up, Sam. I'm fine."

Both brothers' brows wrinkled. "Mix-up?"

"That's not necessarily correct," Castiel said, carefully reaching up to remove her hand from his shoulder. "Dawn is merely defending me. I was…" He glanced at her, as if asking permission to quote her. "…I was being a 'wanker.'"

There were finger quotes involved. Dawn winced for him—sometimes she regretted hanging out with Spike as a teenager.

The group was silent, waiting for more. Balthazar loudly clapped his hands together once, but failed to break the tension. "Well, that was decidedly easy. Job well done, apes. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

But the angel stayed put when Castiel took a step forward. "I wanted to use Dawn to open a door to Purgatory."

Dean made a face. "Purgatory?" His eyes narrowed. "Like the same Purgatory Crowley's looking for—that Purgatory?"

The shamed look on Castiel's face must have spoke for itself, because Dawn watched the Winchesters exchange glances, putting two and two together. Maybe jumping straight to five.

"Cas, please tell me you didn't make a deal with a demon…" Sam's mouth opened and closed. "Are you for real?"

"It it was a damn good deal, too."

_Oh, look, my least favorite person_ , Dawn thought, grimacing at the sound of the male, British voice. She didn't want to glance over her shoulder and see whatever had made the guys in front of her look as if they were about to shit bricks. But she did.

The demon, Crowley, was back. And this time he'd brought a friend, a rather stern looking black woman in a suit. Dawn had been in this situation before, trapped between two scary-lethal forces. It hadn't ended well in the past. She didn't expect it to end well now.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Regretful decided to not hold up his end. So I made new friends."

Castiel's gravely voice returned. "You don't know what you've done, Crowley."

The demon quirked one brow. "I rather think I do. Now, if I were you, I'd get out of our sandbox while you still have your wings attached."

"Oh, dear," Balthazar breathed, letting out a short, frightened chuckle. He paid the demon no heed, watching the woman intensely. "Raphael…You're looking well. Hope you won't hold that little salt trick against me, brother."

_Raphael._ The _Raphael_. Dawn's eyes widened. _Ohcrapohcrapohcrap!_ She instinctively moved closer to Castiel but wasn't fast enough. The woman—Raphael—raised one hand. "Oh, Balthazar, Castiel—punishing you now would teach you nothing. You're dismissed."

With a flick of her wrist, the two angels disappeared, leaving Dawn sharing a worried glance with the Winchester brothers.

"I'm diggin' the new suit," Dean said, his bravado not quite cutting it.

Dawn bit her lip to keep from commenting. _How the hell hasn't he been eviscerated yet? Oh, wait, he probably has been… The lesson didn't take._

"You two on the other hand, might, for once in your lives, prove useful." She, he, it, didn't spare the Winchesters even the slightest smile, her comments straight to the point. Her eyes shot to Dawn. Without seeming to move, she was already in front of the girl, looming over her despite her own lacking height. "If you behave, I can spare them the pain they deserve. Do you understand me, Key?"

"Dawn, don't listen to—"

Sam was cut off when he was flung against the wall behind him, Dean joining him a split second later. The demon, Crowley, had him locked them in his sight, a smug grin on his face as he kept them in place.

"Don't interrupt, moose."

Dawn suddenly lost her ability to summon a witty retort. _Buffy would be pissed_. Instead she simply nodded. "What do you want?" she managed.

Raphael cocked his head. The expression on his vessel's face was so unmoved, neither satisfied nor displeased, that Dawn knew without a doubt that she wouldn't be able to talk her way out of this one.

"I believe you know," the angel said. A slender blade slipped from her sleeve, and she raised the tip to the crease of Dawn's elbow. "Your job is simple. Stay where you are and concentrate. This will all be over soon enough."

Dawn figured she would go down in history as 'the one who nodded'.

She hissed through her teeth when the angelic sword bit into her skin, drawing a long, vertical line down her forearm. A wave of dizziness washed over her before the first spurts of blood could even fall to the cement floor at her feet. Her pulse pounding in her ears, the shouts from behind her barely registering.

She blinked, forcing herself to concentrate. Dying or not, she wasn't checking out just yet. Or, at least, that was her thought before her knees folded, dropping her to the floor like a bag of potatoes. Instinctively, she cupped the flowing wound but it didn't do any good.

Whatever the demon had started reading in the background was working… Dawn could feel energy building in the room. The angel grabbed her by the shirt collar, pulling her back from the puddle of blood just as the portal opened with a flash of blue-white light.

Lightning crackled out of the manhole-sized opening, striking the ceiling. Debris rained down over them. Dawn watched in horror as the doorway expanded, already wider than a kiddie pool, and swallowed the floor. It would be at her knees in seconds.

"What is _this_?"

It took Dawn a moment to realize that the hissed question had come from the angel at her side. Raphael was glaring daggers, but not at Dawn—his focus was on Crowley.

"This is the _wrong_ door!" he snapped.

Dawn's head felt heavy, but she turned it, watching the demon's mouth gape open. Crowley caught himself before the expression could stick.

"Bloody lawyers and their bloody payment plans," he growled. Then his shook out his shoulders, as if dropping the anger from his disposition. "There might be a detail or two of our arrangement that I left out… Such as how I received these instructions in the first place."

"I will tear you limb from limb," Raphael promised.

"Raphael!"

The shout stilled the angel. Raphael's gaze turned to the center of the room, where Castiel and Balthazar stood, looking haggard from their last 'dismissal.' Castiel glanced over his shoulder, giving the Winchesters a look that Dawn couldn't see from her angle, before he turned back to his angelic brothers.

Crowley stepped away from the trio. "May the best idiot pay my due," he said, with a wink. "Crowley out."

The angels in the room didn't even twitch when the demon disappeared or when the Winchester brothers dropped off the wall with a clatter.

"If this is your doing, Castiel, you should know, it was a foolish move. I can open another door, if I wish—find the souls you've sought." Raphael cocked his head at the other two angels, his voice low. "But, I will destroy the Key before I allow you to use it. You've already lost this battle."

"No. You will not harm this girl." Castiel's body grew ridged, and he glimpsed Dawn, just for a moment. Dawn could almost hear his voice in her head, repeating those words she'd spoken. He nodded once in confirmation before glaring up at the other angel.

"You've opened a door, Raphael. It's time you walk through it."

He moved faster than Dawn could follow; one second at the center of the room, the next beside her, holding on to Raphael's arms, even as the arch-angel's sword dug into his side. The two locked eyes, but neither had the time to rethink their actions as Castiel pulled Raphael down. The electricity of the portal bounced in waves as the two angels hit the open doorway, and disappeared. Into the Never.

Dawn leaned forward, her body ready to give out as the floor at her knees gave way to the growing vortex, but a hand grabbed her wrist, pulling her back from the edge. Her vision darkened, and Dawn felt it, the stilling of her heart.

She was dead.

* * *

"It was only for a moment," Balthazar assured.

Sam's knees hit the cement with a painful jarring, but he ignored the sensation, pulling Dawn up into his arms. She was breathing again and the wound at her arm was sealed, the skin left without a scar. Sam felt Dean's fingers against the back of his neck, simply there to steady him, even though the portal had closed seconds earlier.

Dawn blinked up at him, dazed. "What…?" she asked.

Balthazar leaned over the pair, a brow raised as he interpreted the question. "Oh—yes, sorry. I had to kill you a moment there, to close the door, which I find to be a rather silly fallacy. You weren't hoping to fall through it, were you?" He looked up, giving Dean a stretched frown, mockingly sheepish. "Didn't really think it through at the time," he said, at a stage whisper.

"That door led to the Never?" Dean asked. "Why the hell would Crowley open a door to Dawn's home?"

He didn't receive an answer.

Sam felt his heart galloping against his chest, almost afraid to hear Dawn reply to Balthazar's inquiry, but she shook her head, her hair tickling his chin when he leaned down to kiss it. When he pulled away, she still looked tired, but her eyes were wide.

"I wasn't… I don't want to leave." Sam cupped her cheek with his hand, hoping to God that was honesty in her eyes. Her breathing hitched, as if she suddenly remembered what had happened. "Castiel fell?"

Sam nodded. He felt his brother's fingers tighten a bit, and then pull away. "Jumped," he heard Dean add, "took Raphael with him. Can we…is there a way to open the portal back up?"

Sam hadn't even let his mind get there yet—he felt like a dick, but he'd ran to Dawn before even processing what had just happened to the two angels.

"In theory," Balthazar said. The answer was soft, too sincere for the cocky angel. Sam stared up at him, confused. The angel shook his head. "In theory, yes. But, children, the Never is called that for a reason. Because Father insisted we _Never_ visit it. It's forbidden."

Sam frowned. "By 'we,' you mean the angels?"

"Yes, buffoon, that's what I mean." But there was no bite in the words. Balthazar swallowed, as if keeping down whatever was on the tip of his tongue. "And, the whole threat of being ripped apart by the trip is enough incentive for the lot of us not to try and visit. I'm afraid Castiel and Raphael are gone… Castiel knew it would be a one-way trip when he pushed Raphael into into the vortex. The self-sacrificing idiot."

Dawn stiffened in his arms. "He didn't tell me that part…"

Sam caught her tear with his thumb before it could roll down her face and pulled her against his chest, holding her tight.

"Christ, Cas…" The muttered words belonged to Dean.

Sam reached up without looking, tugging his brother's sleeve until he dropped down onto the floor beside them. The brothers didn't embrace, but the closeness was enough. Always had been. Sam didn't have to meet Dean's eye to know he was broken by the loss of their friend.

Balthazar gave the group a self-pitying smile and stepped away. "Now, if you don't mind… I'm going to go lick my wounds halfway across the world. I've got family to mourn. Oh, and Winchesters and Co.? Don't call me. Ever."

Sam nodded in agreement, even though the angel was no longer there to see him. He felt Dean's hand on his back, rubbing a circle between his shoulder blades.

"Been a long day," Dean said, his voice choked. "What do you say we borrow a car, get to Bobby's, and sleep for a week?"

Dawn's voice was muffled against Sam's shirt. "Sam said I'd like you."

"The lady approves." Dean smirked, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes. He pushed himself up to his feet again. "Be back to pick you two up. Meet me out front of…where ever the hell we are…"

Sam watched his brother leave, knowing Dean was getting out before the disappointment could show on his face. The last hour had cost them too much.

He shook his head. It would heal, with time. And, he wouldn't let it hang. Eventually, they'd find a way to open the portal again and let Dawn get a message to her sister. And let all of them have some closure.

"Sam?"

Dawn pulled herself up, letting one of her arms wrap around his neck. "So, I know it's kind of non-typical, but is it too early for me to say—"

Sam smiled, planting a soft kiss over her lips. "Tell me when one of us hasn't just died. When we have a day that doesn't involve angels and demons."

She shook her head. "That might be a while. I'm guessing the universe is going to try to screw us over whether I actually say it aloud or not," she countered, and smirked up at him.

He leaned into her, breathing in her scent, feeling her with a body he wouldn't have had back if she hadn't cared for him in the first place. Twenty-four hours. Less than. That was how long he'd known her like this, wearing this form, but he couldn't stop himself from wanting her, in every sense. She was right; the universe would already know, whether he said it or not.

"What do we do now?" she asked, looking more awake. "I mean, demon guy's going to be an issue, I'm sure, and I don't know how long Bobby's going to be able to stand me drooling on his sofa. On the plus side, I'm never going to find out if that research paper bombed. On the not-so-plus side, I have zero equipment, and I'm thinking a hunter needs more than a knife and a broken crossbow."

Sam considered the answer while she babbled. It left a smile on his face. "First? Dean's going to insist you train better. Guns and combat."

"I'll kick his ass…" She huffed. _If I don't, Buffy will kick mine when she finds out._ "You know, after he's properly distracted. You figure flashing him would help?"

Sam snorted. "Don't you dare."

"Yeah, that'll probably only work on you."

It slipped out before Sam could help himself. "Damn. I love you."

Dawn pulled away from him. "Love you, too, bubble boy."

* * *

**Epilogue**

* * *

Fire licked at her back, the blaze just enough to scorch her bare body. The chains rattled as they slackened, lowering her closer to the pit of coals. She hissed through her teeth, the sting of sweat rolling over her brow blinding her.

"I never said the instructions were for Purgatory," she said, and swallowed spit and sulfur. "And you never asked."

A hand trailed over her slick thigh, as far as it could go before being stopped by the round pit of embers beneath her strung out body.

"Oh, darling, I've realized as much, in retrospect."

She closed her eyes against the pain at her shoulder blades as the hooks there spread out further, tearing flesh, as if they were intended to split her down the middle. "I don't know why you're upset, Mr. Crowley." Lilah forced a bitter chuckled out of her throat. "One Key in exchange for one angel. You're the party who chose to deliver two instead."

"The contract was fulfilled," he agreed. "And, I'll find my door to Purgatory… Right place. Right time. One twist of the ol' Key…"

"Then why am I still here?" Lilah growled.

"The contract was fulfilled… But it didn't work out in my favor, now did it, darling?" He stepped around the pit, coming to a stop beside her. She could see the glint of the axe's blade from the corner of her eye. "Now, do you recall what you promised me if I didn't come out of the arrangement a happy fellow?"

Lilah licked the salt off her lips, watching the weapon rise. "Me," she whispered.

The axe fell.

Crowley smiled grimly. "Did you miss that last part? Don't worry, love. We'll do it all over again tomorrow."

* * *

_What was lost, Never found._

Twisting, turning, through the…

Castiel groaned, feeling his vessel come alive. Pain shot through every nerve, sending streams of fire from his fingertips to his toes. He shivered against the sensation, then grew still, taking a long, necessary breath.

Necessary…but it shouldn't have been.

He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his lungs swelling with a need to satisfy the burn of deprivation. Castiel had felt this way before, a few years back…When he was weaker, and more man than angel.

Grimacing, he lifted his hand, touching his side. The prodding hurt, and he bit his lip when his fingers came away wet. There, that spot—it was where Raphael had stabbed him. Perhaps the blow had weakened him severely…Perhaps he'd—

Castiel remembered then, what had happen in those seconds. He had killed his brother and himself in one deft move. Or, so he'd thought. But, if he'd succeeded, then why could he feel pain coursing through his body? It made no sense.

He opened his eyes, nearly blinded by the light overhead, but a shadow fell across him, blocking it. It was a young woman, long blond hair falling over her shoulder, her face stony.

"What did you do to Dawn?"

Castiel knew her then. He could see the Key's likeness in the curve of her jaw, hear it in the tone of her hardened voice. He parted his lips, breathing in shallow gasps until the words came back to him…

"The hardest thing in the world is to live in it." His voice scratched on its way up, giving him pause. "Be brave. Live for me."

Buffy Summers' face lost its severity, her eyes wet with remembrance. "What did you say?"

Castiel licked his dry lips.

"Dawn lives."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm not the first to play around with connecting our "Key" to Purgatory (because, come on, we all know the Key isn't completely de-activated, right?), but hopefully this story was original enough to keep you entertained. A thanks to Patricia de Lioncourt (my bff, the Sammy to my Dean) for her own take on the subject.
> 
> It occurs to me that you didn't actually get to see Bobby throughout this whole story. This will not do. He'll have to show up in the sequel. Oh, have I mentioned the sequel yet? Yeah, I'll be writing one of those so you can see what those pesky lawyers are up to, if Crowley is completely ditching his Purgatory plans, and how Buffy takes to having a fallen angel on her shoulder. Even though I'm usually a Buffy/Dean girl, I'm thinking it might go in a Castiel/Buffy direction...he's got that whole brooding, pop-culture ignorant, way-older-guy thing she seems to like so much.
> 
> Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the story. Thanks for reading!


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